Together (Ice and Fire)
by grednforgesgirl
Summary: God help me, I needed more of the boatsex scene. So here you go, extended version. and more. "He took a step closer. He was so close. She felt surrounded. Safe. She felt the warmth radiating off him like fire. She had been so cold since she had landed in Westeros. She didn't feel cold now."
1. Ice and Fire

_**a/n:**_ _I couldn't take it anymore, so you're welcome. My poor little heart. Enjoy._

 **JON**

The wooden planks echoed under his feet.

 _Thunk._

 _Thunk._

 _Thunk._

He sighed. Turned.

 _Thunk._

 _Thunk._

 _Thunk._

Jon's heart was pounding. He could feel it, hear it. Strong in his chest. For every step, there were three.

 _Thunk._

 _Thump thump thump._

 _Thunk._

 _Thump thump thump._

 _Thunk._

 _Thump thump thump._

Hammering so hard it was painful.

Did he dare?

How could he dare?

He must. He couldn't take it another second. His heart would explode.

He'd never felt like this. This….anxious anticipation. The fear.

 _Oh, gods, what if she doesn't feel the same?_

But the way she had looked at him….their conversation in the dragon pit…

 _The way she looked at him and held his hand on the boat…_

There was something…extraordinary there. Something he could not explain. He was drawn to her. And she to him.

 _Thunk._

 _Thunk._

 _Thunk._

He could go to her, here now, it was his opportunity…there would never be a better one, as the long night would come for them as soon as they stepped ashore – _Like this hadn't been in the forefront of his mind when he suggested she sail with him instead of riding her dragon_ – Or he could sit here in his cabin, pacing, wearing a hole in the solid wood planks beneath him until he fell below decks from wearing them so thin….like a coward.

He took a deep, steadying breath. The well-oiled hinges were silent as he gently opened the thick wood door.

 **DAENERYS**

Her pillows and bedding were soft. The gentle rocking of the boat and the soft sounds of the sea could do nothing to soothe the torment going on in her head.

 _Jon._

His name echoed in her head, over and over again. Come unbidden to her mind were sweet, soft images of whispering that name into his soft curls and his skin…what would his skin feel like against hers?

 _Jon._

She had not felt this. She had never felt this…anticipation. This _need._ She couldn't breathe. Her chest was tight. It was painful. The pain she had felt ever since she had seen her baby fall through the air…she had not thought it possible…she still didn't quite believe….

But it was dulled by this. This need. This want.

 _Jon._

She needed him. She needed him so badly it ached. Ached deep in parts of her. She had not felt this. Never felt this. Not even with Drogo. Not this all-consuming need. She wanted to kiss every single one of those scars…she hadn't been able to stop fantasizing about it ever since she'd seen them.

 _Jon._

The burning in his eyes. She had seen it there. Strong as fire.

She wanted him. Their conversation in the Dragon Pit had made her need all that much stronger. Had he done it on purpose? Had he known she would be consumed with this…need for him to _show her_ that the Witch had lied?

 _Have you ever considered she might not be a reliable source of information?_

Yes, but the scaly monster she had birthed from Drogo…. Her miscarriage with Daario, that tiny husk of a baby, if you could call it that…it had had scales…was not entirely human…she'd called for Missandei in shock because she couldn't stand to look at the terrifying monster anymore…her child…so small…of course she could get pregnant, but what kind of child could she ever have?

 _But Jon…_

There was something deep inside of her that called to him. A Fire in her blood that pulled her towards him, like it had pulled her towards the Fire she had birthed her children from…it called to her…she needed him….but the dead were coming…there was no time…

 _Jon._

 _You had better take advantage of what little time you might have left,_ she thought. Gods knew she never had enough time…not with Drogo, not with Viseryion…would she squander the time she had with Jon Snow, as well?

There was a knock at the door.

 **ICE AND FIRE**

Jon took a deep breath. Dare he do this? He would just talk. Talk about this unspoken thing between them. He had to get it out. Had to tell her how he felt. If this was all the time left in the world he had with her…he had to tell her.

" _He loved her."_

He hesitated. Took a deep breath, then held it. He knocked on the door. _Oh, gods, there's no turning back now._

 _It's probably Missandei,_ thought Daenerys, snapping out of it. _Or Tyrion, wanting to know if I've settled in._

She shook the thoughts of Jon Snow out of her head, and walked towards the door.

The door opened. Their eyes met. Daenerys' eyes widened. Her heart began hammering. It was the last person she had been expecting to see but knew all along she had been hoping for.

" _And she loved him."_

That fire in his eyes. That intense look. She had never seen anything of it's like in her time. She immediately knew– _hoped_ –what he was there for. She would have to be blind not to see. Her heart burst out of her chest. He was looking at _her_ that way. Dark and lustful and husky.

Her eyes were soft. _She knows,_ he thought. How could she not? It was written all over his face. Without breaking the intense eye contact between them, she opened the door wider and stood aside to let him in.

And in he stepped, with the confidence of a man who knew what he wanted and how to get it. He couldn't take another minute of restraining himself. Her pulse quickened. She was rooted to the floor beneath her, like she'd been shocked, as his hand closed around the door and he turned around, his eyes meeting hers again with a jolt. She was not even aware she was not breathing.

She was aware, however, of the soft click of the door closing beside them, of the solid mass of his arm so close to her, immediately making her feel very small and very safe. She was so aware of his scent, the first notes of salt from the sea, and the hard smell of his leathers…and that wonderfully manly husk that made every one of her senses come alive. She felt like she could breath again. The skin of her neck tingled. _Just wrap your arms around me, I need to be surrounded by you._

His hand slid off the door and she immediately missed the presence of his halo around her.

"Daenerys…" he said, his voice coming in little more than a husk. "I…"

He couldn't get the words out. He couldn't

"Jon…" she whispered. Her whole body ached with the release of the word that had been floating in her head for hours.

He took a step closer. He was so close. She felt surrounded. Safe. She felt the warmth radiating off him like fire. She had been so cold since she had landed in Westeros. She didn't feel cold now.

Her eyes were what drew him in. Her beautiful, violet eyes…they had trapped him since he had first looked into them…they had trapped him all the way across the throne room of Dragonstone as Missandei had read out all of her titles. How far they'd come. He had not been sure then if they would fight or fuck then, but now…

His fingers brushed her cheek, shocking her. Suddenly she was overwhelmed. Her breath caught in her throat and she felt her neck craning towards him. Her eyes lowered to his lips. Those beautiful lips. She wondered how they'd feel against hers…

"My Queen," those lips whispered, questioning. Suddenly she couldn't take it anymore.

"Kiss me," she breathed, commanded.

And he did.

Fire erupted at the point where their lips met. Was this how it ended? Was this how they would die? Light-headed, unable to breath, every nerve and fiber of their being alight…a fire that had burned deep within both of them suddenly raging…Jon felt the ice melt, the cold he had not been able to shake since he had gone to the wall…suddenly, it was gone, and he didn't need his furs. The ice was gone.

There was only the _Fire._

Was this what it meant to be the blood of the dragon? Was this how Daenerys felt? How every Targaryen felt? Jon wondered.

And she did, she felt the blood of the dragon awaken in her, the part that had been wounded and writhing in pain since Viserion's death burned again…roaring within her.

 _Dracarys,_ it demanded of her.

He gripped her head in both of his hands, she felt dizzy…but he was there to catch her. Their kiss, which had been so soft and gentle and light, suddenly deepened. Her palms cupped her jaw, setting a warmth there radiating through the rest of her skin.

Jon inhaled the scent of her skin as he deepened the kiss…he wanted to crawl inside her and never leave. He wanted to eat her…eat every part of her. Their tongues intertwined. He felt like he was home. Like he belonged there. He never wanted to leave.

Suddenly he slammed her against the door. He could not get close enough to her on his own. He needed leverage. She was trapped and she loved it. His lips left hers so he could look at her. She was beautifully flushed. Their eyes met. She couldn't breath. His eyes were so dark…

The door jiggled on it hinges and hit the frame with a soft _thud_ as he kissed her deeply again, banging her against it. She felt her feet leave the floor without her consent and wrap around his waist, his hands gripping her bottom tightly to support her.

 _What a perfect bottom_ , thought Jon as he squeezed it. Perfect for riding a dragon. But she was the dragon about to be ridden.

He growled like a wolf as he slammed her against the door, securing her in his arms, catching her lips in his with every breath. She was the only air he needed.

Her arms gripped his shoulders tightly, the leather creaking beneath her strong grip. His neck was soft and solid, the soft baby hairs tickling her fingers as it flowed through them. He growled again. Her heart raced. She needed to tease him more. _Gods, she needed to tease him more._

She resisted him, pulling away, denying him her lips. He inhaled sharply, their mouth open, and met her eyes with a demanding fire. His lip twitched. She couldn't tell if he was amused or angry. She felt her lips pulling into what might have been a smile, what might have been a snarl, and he captured them again, more fiercely than before, knowing she might get away, and pulling her tighter.

He lifted her, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, and suddenly she felt weightless, like she was lighter than a feather to him, and he effortlessly swooped her towards the bed, where she fell with a soft swoosh of air releasing from the feathers of her bed. His hands were on her head again.

 _Gods, he wanted to tangle his hands in her hair._ But he had no idea how to undo the fancy braid her hair was wrapped up in, and he didn't have time for that nonsense anyway. He was the wolf, and she was the dragon, (or were they both dragons at that moment? He couldn't tell…) and he would have her. Now.

His lips moved down from hers, kissing the corner of her soft lips, then the cheek…the soft skin of their cheeks pressed together and she kissed there, inhaling deeply…she had never smelled anything so wonderful in her life.

Her neck was soft and wonderful….he could bury himself in it forever. He wanted to kiss in that sensitive spot under her jaw until he died, want to listen to those soft sighs forever. He caught her earlobe up in his teeth, and she inhaled sharply and her back arched into him. Kissed his way down but was met only by the edge of her collar. He growled in frustration and pulled back.

 _To come all this way to be foiled by her damn clothes,_ he thought wildly.

They unfastened, he found that out quickly, they were a simple hook-and-eyelet configuration (gods, he'd been hanging out too much with Sansa, why did he know this nonsense?) and he quickly undid every single one of them, thanking whatever gods there were that he'd been paying attention to his sister in some part of his brain.

Daenerys wore a dress underneath the robe, and he suddenly hated that she wore so many layers like armor. He cursed winter for making her so cold.

But she was not cold, as layer after layer got removed from her burning skin by the King in the North's deft hands. Every inch of skin that became exposed was quickly covered with his warm mouth, setting her very soul on fire until there was nothing left of her armor or the cold, only skin and fire and…

 _Jon._

She pulled him up to her lips again from where he had been kissing the skin between her pelvis and her hip, swallowing his lips in hers. The rough leathers scraped at the inside of her delicate thighs. She needed to feel his skin against hers…needed it so badly she would light the world on fire if she didn't get it.

She started to work at the fastenings of his leather armor and quickly found she was out of her depth. He smiled, and pulled back, standing up as he began to strip for her. She smiled softly, breathing heavily through her nose, and made herself more comfortable on the bed to watch, propping her head up on her elbow, aching with need. She squeezed her legs tightly shut to relieve the pressure created between her aching thighs.

Layer after layer of his armor came off, and yet Jon did not feel exposed, he stood almost naked and vulnerable in front of this beautiful woman who watched, her eyes dark with hunger. Everything had fallen to the floor except his thin layer of britches that was a large tent in front of him.

 _Small pecker,_ Tormund's voice echoed in his head, and suddenly he felt embarrassed. Did he have a small pecker? Would it be enough for her?

Daenerys sat up. Perhaps she sensed his anxiousness. Would she tell him to leave?

 _She's so beautiful._ His heart ached. If she told him to leave he would die, he was sure of it. Chop his cock off and live like Theon and Varys and the Unsullied. What use would it be anyway if it could not please _her?_

The thought had not even crossed her mind. Why did men think women cared about such things, anyway?

Her only thought was of exposing every inch of that wonderful cock and feeling it inside her.

Suddenly she surrounded him, her arms wrapped around his waist and kissing his stomach, not kneeling but sitting on the edge of the bed. _She was the_ Queen. _She would never kneel,_ he thought. Her fingers slipped beneath the waistband and unbuttoned his britches, and suddenly they fell in a heap around his ankles, and there he stood in all his glory. She stood back and looked at him hungrily. Daenerys flushed from top to toes in anticipation. They looked into each other's eyes again. And suddenly he was on her, pulling her up towards him, all insecurities forgotten, everything forgotten but her.

He grabbed her head and captured her mouth in his, and her arms wrapped around his shoulders, his skin pressed against hers and she was on fire again, much less satisfied than she thought she'd be by the touch of his skin. No, she needed more.

"Jon," she breathed between fiery kisses.

He moaned, heart aching with need. He threw her on the bed again, and kneeled on the floor before her.

" _My Queen,"_ he whispered, _"My Queen."_ Again and again against her skin in between kisses, lighting her heart on fire with every repetition. And suddenly he was kissing her, _down there._

She gasped, then exhaled, sharp, short intakes of breath as his tongue moved against her folds.

 _She smells wonderful, she tastes wonderful._

He didn't know how to describe the taste. There was nothing else like it in the world. Her moistness was thick and creamy and tasted somewhat like a fine olive brine, but sweeter and better. Ygritte hadn't tasted like this in the cave. Hers had been thin and slightly salty mixed with the hard scent of the road. But Daenerys tasted like a Queen.

Jon had heard that woman's mucuses tasted different at different times of their cycles, and the men had said the taste was the best and thickest when they were most fertile, when their womb would quicken with a hardy man's seed, and tasting it with his tongue and feeling it with his fingers was the only way to tell. Jon wondered if his Queen was during that time.

He hoped she was.

 _I can't have children,_ she had said, her eyes full of pain. He could tell, immediately, that she had never wanted anything more in the world, not even the iron throne, more than she wanted a child in her arms.

He wanted to prove that vile witch that had killed her husband and told her she would never bear children very, very, _very_ wrong. Wanted nothing more than to give Daenerys the child she had always wanted. That he had never known or allowed himself to know he wanted.

He had never wanted to bring a bastard in this world. But this child would not be a bastard. He was determined about that.

The Weirwood tree waited for them at Winterfell. Of that he was certain. It made sense, politically and ….well, for other, more personal reasons. He wondered why he hadn't thought of it before. It was only now, with his face buried deep between her legs, the taste of her on his tongue, the wonderful scent of her engulfing his nostrils, her curls tickling his nose, and the sound of her soft, stuttered moans filling his ears that the world finally came together. Of course they would get married. Of course they would defeat the white walkers together. Of course she would sit on the Iron Throne. It was destined. Fire and Ice. She was Fire. He was Ice. What else in the world was there but the two of them?

For Dany, she could think of nothing, her mind was nothing but blackness as her eyes squeezed shut and the waves of pleasure rolled between her legs and up her torso. Every time his tongue encircled the tiny nub between her folds, a new wave of pleasure jolted her body. She had never been kissed like this before, not by Daario, and definitely not by Drogo. She never even knew it was possible to feel this wonderful. She felt…worshipped. Every nerve in her body was alight, and she was not in control of her hips bucking against his mouth.

He wrapped his arms tightly around her legs, so her could keep his mouth on her moving hips. He moaned into her, vibrating every single cell of her being and and she moaned and sighed, tears pricking her eyes from the pleasure and release of the pain deep within her.

Her eyes shot open and she looked down at him. She had a sudden need to see him. She had never seen anything more beautiful. His eyes were closed, his face soft, so absorbed in his task. The world was still for what felt like an eternity as she watched him bob up and down between her thighs. Suddenly his eyes opened and their gazes met, and Daenerys felt her whole body melt and come alight at the same time.

" _My King,"_ she whispered, breathless.

He stopped. Looked up at her. His beard glistened with her wetness. His mouth was open in surprise. _That_ he had never expected, but her calling him by his proper title (that he had never felt he deserved, really) awakened something…very _primal_ in him. And strangely he felt the need to dominate her, which he quickly shoved back down. She is _the Queen_ , he told himself forcefully. You do not dominate a _Queen._

And suddenly, very suddenly, Daenerys felt very small and very submissive. It surprised her, because she had spent the later half of her life trying to overcome that feeling of helplessness. But this was….different. It made her feel…strangely _empowered?_

She guided him off of her, delicately telling him to stand up. She slid off the bed onto the floor. His breath caught in his throat. _She_ was the one _bending the knee_. _To him._

" _My King,"_ she whispered again.

She looked up at him with doe-eyes from her position below him. He couldn't breathe. How could he have ever gotten so lucky as to see the sight of the most powerful woman in Westeros kneeling before him? Her hands gliding across his skin? Her hands grabbing…? Her mouth kissing….? Her mouth closing around….?

 _Oh….._

 _Oh gods…_

Daenerys had never done this before, but she was suddenly wondering why she never had. His breathless moans were the most beautiful sounds she'd ever heard in her life.

"S–Stop…" he stuttered, breathless. "I – I can't – I won't be able to hold it– _oh f-fuck–"_

She stopped immediately and laid back on the bed.

He took a moment, breathing deeply, his cock twitching, heart pounding. No one had ever done _that_ to him before.

Keep it together, Snow, he thought desperately to himself, breathing heavily. _Keep it together. Fuck._

He opened his eyes.

She was looking at him softly with those violet, doe eyes, soft and gentle and understanding. Her skin glowing softly in the candlelight. She was so beautiful.

"You are _so_ beautiful," he breathed.

Her breath caught in her throat. Suddenly tears pricked her eyes. She knew this, she was not blind, had been told it before, had been told many variations of it, had heard _ballads_ praising _the Queen's_ beauty before, but this…. She realized she had never really believed any of it until Jon Snow said it to her _like that._ All those years of Viserys telling her what an ugly little girl she was suddenly faded in light of Jon Snow telling her how beautiful she was. She needed to hear it again and again until that ugly voice in her head was _gone._

" _You are so beautiful,"_ he whispered again, as if he knew she needed to hear it.

He slid into bed next to her, and she climbed on top of him, sliding a leg between his and covering his body with her gentle weight and he wrapped his arm around her. Her breasts were soft against his chest. And they were kissing again, softer than before but needier. He cupped her head in his hand gently like she would break if he touched her. He felt her soft hand on his side, caressing his skin.

She pulled away slightly, teasing him again, needing to feel him need her, and oh gods did he ever need her. He followed her movements, _please don't pull away, I need you. Don't you dare._

She must have pushed him too far because quite suddenly he flipped her over, dominating her. And that submissive feeling came back, stronger than before. The wetness between her thighs suddenly felt cool air as he parted her thighs with his knees. She was so wet that his cock accidentally slipped in, just from the change in positions, and she gasped. Nothing had ever felt so wonderful.

 _Wet as a baby seal,_ Tormund's words of wisdom echoed in Jon's head.

 _Gods, he was a proper lover,_ thought Daenerys. No one had ever taken the time or thought to make sure she was so wet and needing beforehand, like he had. Daario had just put it in when she was still a bit dry, clumsy as he was though never bad, and Drogo had always shoved it in, like it was his right. It had always slightly hurt, and she had just assumed that was part of sex, but Jon Snow had shown her the error of her ways. She would never accept anything less again. And something told her she wouldn't have to.

He would always take care of her. She knew it deep down in her heart. She would never be alone in the world ever again with him by her side. She would never be raped or abused or used ever again. She would not allow it, but neither would _he_. In all her years of life, she had never met a man like Jon Snow, King in the North. _Hers_. And he would _protect her. Even when she didn't think she needed it._

She felt his forehead against hers and his hot breath on her mouth. She couldn't breathe and yet couldn't do anything but, holding him tightly as he cradled her beneath him. She had never been in this position before, but it felt so natural and wonderful and simple. This was where she was meant to be.

Her legs fell further apart. His hand came above her head but did not touch, but rested on the pillow, and she felt safe and protected.

He moved deeper into her, and she was so wet it didn't hurt a bit. He pulled back, and her muscles tightened around him. He drew his tongue up her mouth and nose. _Gods,_ she thought, her heart racing. "Yeah," he breathed, in response to her walls tightening.

He thrusted into her again, so deep that she felt him hit a spot deep within her, she moaned, exhaling a shaky breath of pleasure.

Then his lips captured hers, and she felt dizzy, even lying down. She pushed against his lips with need and desire, and he pushed back firmly, always there. Her heart raced. His heart raced. They felt complete, as one. Nothing in the world felt as perfect as the two of them.

And suddenly his lips were gone, and she gasped. _No!_

Except he was looking at her. _Into her._ His eyes…oh, gods, his _eyes…_ and…Daenerys felt… _him_ …felt him _inside_ her heart…she felt it… _burst,_ a sudden explosion of such a strong feeling that she could not define. It was so strong it made her weak. And suddenly she knew…she knew that she would give up everything for this man, give him anything he wanted….give him anything… even the Iron Throne. _Love comes in at the eyes, Khaleesi._ And suddenly she understood. Everything finally made sense.

 _She loved him._

Jon knew, looking into her eyes. Suddenly, he knew. He felt it in his heart. He would never, ever leave her. No matter what duty called him. If they failed and the White Walkers took over the world, he would take her and run. Suddenly, he knew. _Love is the death of duty,_ and Maester Aemon's words finally made sense. His father's actions now made sense. Suddenly _everything_ made sense.

 _And he loved her._

" _He's never been a bastard. He's the Heir to the Iron Throne."_

Drawn to each other, like magnets, their lips met again, and fire consumed them.

How long they made love, Daenerys did not know. It could have been hours. Could have only been a few minutes. But they were the most wonderful moments of her life. Nothing compared to the feeling of him thrusting into her, and her hips coming up to meet his. His cock hit that sweet spot over and over and over again until she came, hard and slow, Her body arching like she was possessed by spirits to meet his hips, pulsing, moaning, and when he felt her come, he could not hold it a second longer. He let out deep gusts of breath as his seed spilled deep into her womb, and she moaned as she felt the hot jets of cum hit the back of her as her walls spasmed rhythmically in time with his heavy, hot sighs.

She doubted his seed would quicken, but hope crashed in like a painful tidal wave. _Please give me a child, Jon Snow,_ she thought, wildly, irrationally, _begged._

 _Please._

They lay there together as their pleasures faded, his cock growing soft inside her as he still thrust gently and slowly to bring them both back down. She could feel his seed settle deep inside her more with every thrust. They stroked each other's faces and hair and looked into each other's eyes, unable to look away. His fingers brushed her temples and every stroke furthered softened the muscles in her face and body. A warm glow grew from within her. The raging fire had faded to soft, glowing, undulating embers, and she suddenly felt very sleepy.

They kissed again, softer, more gently. A slow-burning kiss that made them both sigh heavily at the end of it. He buried his face in her neck and she felt the full weight of him on top of her. She felt herself fully relax for the first time in a very, very long time. And so did Jon.

They just lay there together, fully inhaling each other's scent, enjoying the feeling of their warm afterglow, and Jon softening slowly inside of her, warm and snug and safe.

Dany began to doze.

She woke suddenly after what felt like ages, but in reality could have only been a few moments, to him rolling off her, and his seed spilled a bit. She quickly clamped her hand firmly over her hole, preventing anymore from spilling out, and resettled herself, snuggling up into his chest, removing her hand and placing it on his chest. She pressed her thighs together and angled her body so she felt it drip deeper into her instead of sliding out. He wrapped his strong arms around her, cradling her. They tucked their feet underneath the loose covers, and Jon pulled them up above her shoulders and held her tightly, and she felt warm and safe as she felt the steady _thump, thump, thump_ of his heart.

"I love you, Jon Snow," she whispered gently.

His head raised, his hand cupped her jaw, guided her to look up at him. He looked deeply into her eyes.

"I love you, my Queen," he murmured. And she felt her heart explode one last time as her kissed her, ever so gently.

And together, they fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, without nightmares or vivid dreams of falling dragons and ice and the dead. No fear of the long night could touch them in their soft, candlelit cabin where their love burned so brightly in the dark.

For the night is dark and full of terrors.

But they could face them.

Together.

 **a/n:** _please fav and REVIEW if you liked it! My god, my heart can't take this shit. I fucking love them so goddamn much and I haven't been able to stop fantasizing about them for two fucking seconds. Kill me now I can't wait two more years for more. Also I am SO SO SORRY ABOUT THE TEXT BEING BROKEN BEFORE. I made a stupid mistake by copy and pasting in my rush to get this out. (I lost my word docs with my new computer, so I had to write it on google docs, and I published it first on my tumblr and I made some edits there, and I tried to copy paste straight from there to the doc manager, and I DIDN'T PREVIEW which was DUMB AF I'M SO OUT OF PRACTICE. KILL ME NOW SO EMBARRASSING)_

 _EDIT: Thank you SO MUCH to the reader who pointed out that is was actually TORMUND not Davos that mentioned Jon had a small pecker, I don't know how I could have forgotten that considering how many times I've watched this damn show. omg xD_


	2. Love and Politics

_**a/n:**_ _alright, y'all convinced me. Here you go. What happens after. Got damn this ship is going to kill me. I WILL GO DOWN WITH IT._

 **JON**

Jon woke with a start sometime in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. His heart was racing. Visions of falling dragons and ice and the dead burned in the back of his eyelids ...all his loved ones, every single one...and at the front...Daenerys, naked and dead, flesh rotting off her bones, holding a baby with terrifying blue eyes.

" _Jon..."_ she had whispered eerily, voice dead and hollow and raspy with decay.

He squeezed his eyelids shut tight, trying to burn the image away. Opened them again to dimly lit planks above his head. The candles had nearly burned low. The baby's cries rang in his ears like the chilling sound of three blows of the horn.

He turned his head to his right. She lay with her back to him, sleeping soundly, soft little snores vibrating in his heart. Her silver hair shimmered in the candlelight mixed with the moonlight streaming through the window.

Terror gripped his heart.

 _The dead were coming._

He felt it, more and more everyday. The longer it went on, the more terrified he was. This...waiting...traveling...it was taking too long. He needed to be at the wall _now_ with a host of men and women and his back to fight the dead.

He leaned over and kissed her hair. Daenerys stirred, but did not wake. He sighed. Sat up.

Jon placed his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes hard, still unable to burn the image from his mind.

 _Daenerys._

Gods, why _now._ Why _here._ Why now, at the end of the world, was he only allowed to find this? Find _her?_ Find _love_ like _this?_

He drew a deep, heavy sigh. His heart rate was slowly returning to normal.

He leaned back, over his Queen again. Hooked a finger around her silver curls and pulled them behind her ear. Kissed the skin now exposed and down her neck. She stirred. Her eyes opened a sliver.

"I'm going to go take a piss," he whispered softly. "I'll be back."

She nodded sleepily. He kissed her cheek again and she smiled half a smile. He softened. Oh, how he'd fallen.

He stood, dressed as quiet as he could, leaving his armor behind and only putting on his fur-lined leather shirt. He checked to make sure the coast was clear before leaving Daenerys' cabin, then went above decks.

Only a small skeleton crew piloted the ship this late at night. He nodded to the helmsman, who nodded back and returned his eyes to the open sea.

It was beautiful out here, fresh sea air filling his nostrils, moonlight bouncing off of the calm sea. Rhagael paddled softly in the water at some distance away, moonlight reflecting off of his green scales. He watched as the the dragon took a long draw of water and puffed, smoke and steam rising from his nostrils. Jon inhaled deeply at the same time as the dragon, his deep breath finished long before Rhagael's giant lungs had filled even halfway.

The air was slightly chilly, and he felt the heat that he had garnered over the night quickly disippate. He shivered once more and sighed.

Jon walked to the edge of the ship and took out his cock to piss over the side. The air filled with the scent of sex that lingered on his cock.

Daenerys' beauty filled his mind once more, and made it slightly difficult to piss as he grew slightly hard. He winced and forced it out.

 _Thunk. Thunk. Thunk._

He heard footseps behind him and he turned his head.

"Snow," said Tyrion.

"Tyrion," Jon replied.

Tyrion stood beside him at a decent distance and also pulled out his cock. The hard sound of his stream hitting the water below filled the night. Jon continued pissing.

"Beautiful night," said Tyrion.

"Yes," said Jon. _He has no reason to know,_ Jon thought firmly.

"I am sure our Queen would appreciate this beauty," said Tyrion slyly.

 _Fuck, he knows._

Nevertheless, Jon played along.

"I'm sure she would," said Jon.

Overhead, he heard a soft, deep growl. He looked up to see Drogon flying in circles overhead, ever watchful. The Dragon tilted his head and one of his great red eyes met Jon's briefly, examining him, looking straight into his soul, before looking out to sea again. Jon shivered. They were so much more intelligent that he had ever thought. _Not just beasts._

"Our Queen has not recovered from the loss of her child yet, I think," said Tyrion softly. He had finished pissing and now he was watching Rhaegal with a tight expression on his face.

"No," said Jon softly in agreement, shaking off and putting away his cock. "I don't think she quite...believes it happened. Not really."

Jon had felt grief before, many times, had seen it in many men and women in his short life, had seen it _destroy_ many men and women; but he didn't think he would ever understand...hoped he would never understand... how it felt to lose a child. Much less a child that was one of the last great wonders of its kind, such a marvel of a beast that all around the world were in awe and fear of it. He thought back to when he had touched Drogon's hard, scaly smooth snout. The heat that had radiated from him and filled Jon with fire. His heart mourned for one less in the world.

"It was a reckless thing," said Tyrion, jaw tight. "Her going to your rescue. Reckless. Foolish. She shouldn't have done it. I advised her not to, but she wouldn't listen to me. She had to save you."

Jon didn't answer. He avoided looking at the dwarf, eyes fixed on Rhaegal out to sea. He could feel the dwarf's eyes burning into him.

"Love makes people do reckless, stupid things without a thought to the realm, Jon Snow."

He could hear some unspoken pain and anger in Tyrion's voice and finally looked at him.

"I know that," he said. He could not help the bite in his voice, feeling strangely defensive. Of course he knew that, he'd seen it. Heard about it. Read about it in history books, how two people's love for each other would almost always make the world burn and the common folk reap the consequences.

"Do you?" said Tyrion. "Because I'm not so sure. This relationship you are forming with our Queen-"

"I'm not-" he said defensively.

Tyrion silenced him with a look.

"I may be a foolish, drunken dwarf, but I'm not an idiot, Jon Snow. Nor am I blind. It's in my job description to know what goes on behind closed doors, especially in regards to our Queen. It's in my job description to protect her from all threats, political and otherwise."

Jon sighed.

"Look I don't know how you found out-I don't care. But what happens between her and whoever she chooses to spend her nights with is her business, and hers alone."

Tyrion shook his head.

"You know nothing of politics, Jon Snow," he said, his eyes hard. "This is not like a battle, or a fight against the dead, or wildlings. Politics is a long game. If you don't learn how to play it, you'll be as dead as those beyond the wall before you know it."

Jon swallowed, anger rising.

"You don't-"

"Jon, I'm speaking as your friend and as the Queen's Hand. I don't wish to anger you."

Jon huffed and looked back out to sea, watched Rhagael groom underneath a wing. The moonlight shone green through the outstreched translucent wing. He sighed again.

They were quiet for a moment.

"When we left Meeren," started Tyrion. "Daenerys had to leave a lover behind, a man she thought she loved but told me she had felt nothing when ending it. She had done the right thing. She knew it, I knew it. She had to leave him behind."

Jon didn't know why Tyrion was telling him this.

"When we reached Westeros, we would need to form alliances. Strong alliances that could not easily be broken, not even with time. I told you, politics is a long game. We would need to secure an alliance that would last for life, long beyond the War with Cersei. Long after Daenerys sat on the Iron Throne. I knew this going in. She did too, I think."

"Marriage," Jon realized, his heart sinking.

"You learn quickly, Jon Snow. Very good."

Jon's heart sanker deeper.

"I didn't know who it would be," Tyrion continued. "However, I knew she would need to be unmarried and unattached. My mind ran through several options. There was Loras Tyrell, after all, the Reach is the second richest house in the seven kingdoms, they would be a powerful ally. Although that idea got blown up along with the Sept, courtesy of my _dear_ sister. There was Dickon Tarly, after that, a second, less powerful house, but the next most logical to take over the reach after the death of the Tyrells...although that went up in flames as well. Perhaps a Dornish prince? For sure, they were one of weaker alliances with a powerful position. There would always be one of the many sons of Walder Frey, perhaps? The twins is a strategically valuable position...although _Winter Came for House Frey_ , as the common folk whisper. Good riddance. They were a terrible family, with no loyalty, and capable of much worse things than even the Red Wedding. That never would have been my first choice, only as a last resort."

"Get to the point," muttered Jon. Tyrion ignored him.

"And then there was my brother, who, although he would hate it as much as she would, would make a very strong, powerful alliance and put an end to the war in a swift stroke. Though, of course Cersei would never go along with that...for reasons you and I both know. She wants Jamie all to herself. And she would never give him up to her worst enemy, of all people. I do believe my dear sister hates our Queen more than she does me now...which is saying something."

They both exchanged a look. Tyrion's lips twitched upwards.

Jon felt his heart, which was so full only hours ago, sink deeper and deeper into a deep black crevice that it would never escape from. He thought he knew what Tyrion was getting at here. His face fell as he looked back out at Rhaegal.

"And you don't think it would be appropriate for a bastard of Winterfell, with a false title of King in the North to marry the most powerful woman in the world."

Tyrion was silent for a long time as Jon felt his heart breaking. He could feel his eyes boring into him.

"Quite the opposite, actually," said Tyrion softly. Jon looked at him. "A marriage alliance between the Rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and the King in the North is quite a powerful alliance indeed."

Jon felt his lips part. His heart jumped into his throat.

"It has a precedence," he continued, "and I do believe it is our only shot at convincing the Northern Lords to accept our Queen while keeping you, who has already bent the knee, in power.

"Aside from that, our Queen has the largest army. The North-which you control-has the second largest army. Winterfell and the North is a strategic location that we cannot afford to lose- _especially_ in regards to the threat beyond the wall, and with Winter here. I _am_ glad you decided to bend the knee."

Tyrion smiled weakly at Jon.

"But I'm afraid it won't be enough for your people. You were elected. You can be un-elected. And Northerlings are strange, fickle beings. If they do not accept your fealty to our Queen, they will put someone else in your place-I am sure of it. Sansa being the most likely choice, and, personally, I think she would make a wonderful _Warden_ of the North. And that is a very distinct difference from _Queen_ in the North.

"And contrary to what you may believe-I do _not_ want you to lose your title as _King_ in the North _."_

Tyrion was silent.

Jon took a deep, shaky breath.

"So you mean-"

"Yes," said Tyrion sadly. "I was going to advise Daenerys that she marry _you_. You are her age, young, strong, relatively handsome-unmarried. In a powerful position as King in the North, which, _I_ believe, far overpowers your bastard status, and makes you worthy...not that being a Noble really matters anymore anyway, the last two Kings to sit on the Iron Throne were bastards anyway. Plus you have achieved many great deeds in your life and your time at the wall and afterwards. _You_ were by far the superior choice to anyone else in the world."

Jon took another heavy breath. His heart was hammering. He looked out at Rhaegal, was silent as he watched the great green dragon spread his wings and take off out of the water with great gusts of wind and spray of the sea cause by several heavy flaps of his massive wings. Jon Snow watched, as Rhagael let out a roar and flew into the air to join his brother. His heart was soaring again with the Dragon. _He could marry Daenerys._

"- _But-"_ began Tyrion, bringing Jon back down to reality with a hard crash. _Anything before the word 'But' is horseshit._ "I did not want it like this."

Jon felt his heart break.

"What do you mean?" he said, confused.

"Feelings only complicate the matter. Like I said, _love..."_ he _spat_ the word out, like he despised it. "Only makes people reckless. It brings into question every desicion a person makes. The northern lords, superstitious, _simplistic_ folk as they are, will think you have been bewitched by the dragon queen-a foreigner who only wants you for strategy. It does not matter what the truth is-and you cannot hide it. More will see. More _have_ seen than I would already have liked. You are completely and utterly in love with her. It complicates things. Extremely."

Jon hung his head. He could not deny it. He knew he would not _try_ to deny it.

"It shouldn't matter," he said.

"No, it shouldn't," said Tyrion sadly. He looked at Jon softly. "I don't _blame_ you, you know. You're not the first to fall for our Queen and you certainly won't be the last. She is a very- _extraodinary_ -woman."

Jon looked at him, brow furrowed.

"Do you-?"

Tyrion let out a burst of laughter, loud and hard. But Jon knew he was masking a severe internal pain. "Me? No. _No._ No, I will never love again."

That piqued Jon's curiosity. Though he knew if he asked, Tyrion would lie. He was very good at it.

"Tyrion-"

"Don't ask what you don't want to know, Jon Snow."

Tyrion's face was a hard, painful mask.

Jon was silent for a moment.

"I do," said Jon, in his heavy northern accent. "You're right. I do - I love her. Nothing could stop that now, I tried to resist, but...she's...she's..." he could not describe it. But Tyrion seemed to understand. The dwarf nodded his head.

"And she loves you," said Tyrion, looking at him.

Jon was silent.

"You know, it's funny. I've seen the Dragon Queen do so many things. Wonderful things. _Terrible_ things. I've seen her seek her counselors advice. I've seen her threaten her advisers. I've seen her tell them to come to her if they ever had doubts about her rule-to _tell her_ if she made a questionable decision instead of plotting behind her back... I've seen her free slaves. I've seen her capable of great compassion and I've seen her capable of great cruelty for those who would harm the innocent. She is ruthless and yet compassionate. I've seen her set people on fire with her dragons and I've seen her torn apart as she locked them away because they killed a sheepherder's son. She seeks the advice of those wiser than her, weighs all of her options, and then makes her own that are a far better solution than anyone could have offered her before. I have seen her make many mistakes and she always knew the moment she had made them and learns from them- _that_ is a rare gift. She is a remarkable woman. She will make an extraordinary queen. Far better than my sister. Or cruel _Joffery._ Or weak Tommen-rest his poor little soul-She will be far better than foolish Robert Baratheon ever was. Far - _far -_ better than the Mad King. But only-

"Only with the right _people_ by her side.

"She continually...surprises me. I should expect it by now. I thought I'd seen everything from her. I never thought-I _never_ thought I would see her fall in love. But she has. with you, of all people. The Bastard of Winterfell." Tyrion said with some amusement. "I have to say, I did not see this coming when I met you in Winterfell's courtyard all those years ago, Jon Snow."

They exchanged a long look. Tyrion's face faltered.

"Do you remember what I said to you?" Tyrion asked, face hard and sharp and intelligent.

"All dwarves are bastards in their fathers eyes." Jon repeated his word's from so long ago.

"Aye, and what else did I say?"

Jon took a deep breath.

"Wear it like armor, so it can never be used to hurt you."

They exchanged a long, knowing look.

"Wise words that I've taken to heart," said Jon after a while.

"I've had to remind myself ... more than a few times." mumbled Tyrion.

They were silent for a long moment, both deep in thought.

"I do believe, Jon, you will make a wonderful King for our Queen," said Tyrion finally. "But you must wear your love for each other like armor against the world. So that it might never be used to hurt you. And it will. Believe me. They will use it to hurt you."

Tyrion's voice broke. Jon thought he saw Tyrion's eyes grow shiny, but the small man who was more akin to a giant looked out to sea, hiding his eyes from Jon. There was a very long moment of silence.

"What was her name?" Jon asked quietly and carefully after a while.

Tyrion was silent for a very long time. For a moment Jon thought he might not answer but finally he did.

" _Shae_ ," he murmered silently, the name rolling off his tongue softly, like it was simultaneously the most beautiful and ugliest word to him. It sounded like smooth river rocks coming from the back of his throat, strangling him.

Jon was silent for a moment.

"What happened to her?" he asked quietly.

Tyrion's face grew into a cold, hard scowl.

"I strangled her after I found her in my father's bed."

He looked at Jon, and their eyes met with a sharp jolt. Jon knew he saw tears in the Lannister's eyes then. And Jon suddenly realized it would be _very_ dangerous to cross this man.

"Love is a powerful and dangerous thing, Jon Snow," he said seriously, his voice was barely more than a cracked whisper. "You could get lost in it. You both could. Don't forget your duty. Don't forget _her_ duty. And don't- _whatever you do-Don't_ let them use it against you."

And then he was gone.

Jon took a deep, shaky breath, swaying silently with the rocking of the boat, staring out to sea, his eyes wide, deep in thought, his throat tight. He watched the dragons fly above him for a long time, until he finally decided to return below decks, to his Queen.

He stripped naked again and lay down beside her, pulling her to him and spooning her body with his, clinging to her like she was the only thing that mattered. Kissed her neck as she snuggled deeper into his arms, wiggling her bottom so that his cock nestled between her legs.

"I love you, Daenerys Targaryen. My Queen," he breathed in her ear. "I will never let any one hurt you. I will never let anyone hurt us."

Her eyes flickered open sleepily and she twisted to met his eyes. Her gaze softened, but her brows bowed, growing worried.

"What happened, Jon?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said softly. "Just...let me hold you."

Her face softened. Her fingers brushed his cheek. She kissed him softly. He felt his cock twitch.

They broke apart.

"I love you too, Jon Snow. Whatever it is, we can face it together."

He smiled softly. Nodded.

"Yeah."

 _ **a/n:**_ _yeah, yeah, no sex. But conversations with Tyrion. Just as important. Trust me, you haven't seen the last of Jon riding the dragon. Proud of this one :)_ _ **Please REVIEW!**_


	3. This I Vow

**DAENERYS**

Dany woke to the gentle rolling of the boat. The first thing she became noticably aware of was something very hard pressed between her thighs and a strong chest at her back.

She smiled softly.

 _Jon._

She snuggled closer to him and he shifted, pulling her tighter and letting out a deep sigh.

 _Jon._

She had never woken up with a man before. Drogo had always left her tent sometime in the middle of the night, and she had almost always sent Daario away after they were done.

This was a nice change.

He really felt like he was here to stay.

 _Jon._

For the first time in a long time, she felt at peace. She'd had a dreamless night. No visons of death. No dead, scaly babies. No terrifying sights of her child falling through the air.

She had needed a good nights sleep.

She felt clear-headed and strong.

She twisted around to bury her face in Jon's chest and inhaled his scent deeply, wrapping her leg around his hips.

He stirred and opened his eyes sleepily at her.

"Good morning," he said groggily.

"Good morning," she responded, a smile pulling at her lips.

His hand came up from her waist to stroke her hair.

"How did you sleep?" he murmered.

"Wonderfully," she whispered, breathless. "And you?"

She saw a flicker of something on his face, but it quickly faded.

"Finally had a peaceful night," he said.

She remembered suddenly.

"What happened? Last night you left to go make water, and then you came back and you..."

His face fell.

"I ran into Tyrion."

She suddenly turned to stone.

"And?" she said, a note of regality finding a way back into her voice. She hadn't realized how soft her voice had turned when she spoke to him alone. How vulnerable.

Jon sighed. Looked away. Then looked back at her.

"He knows."

Daenerys suddenly felt very betrayed. Her heart turned to ice.

"I didn't tell him, before you ask. He worked it out by himself."

"How?" she asked coldly.

"I don't know, I didn't ask. It's not what matters-"

"Not what matters?" she pulled away from him, cold, and sat up on the bed. Jon's face fell.

"Daenerys," he said softly. She refused to look at him. He must have given it away somehow, betrayed her, and she didn't want everyone to know yet. She wanted to enjoy this short time they had together on this boat. She felt hurt that he would let Tyrion-of all people-in on this secret. He would find someway to use it, and she didn't want her love for Jon to be _used._

He reached up to cup her chin. Gently turned her head to look into his eyes. She felt herself melt-but only slightly.

"He thinks we should get married."

Her mouth fell open. She bristled. How _dare he-?_

"So do I," said Jon firmly.

Daenerys sat stunned.

How dare he. How dare both of them. Conspire about her fate behind her back like she didn't exist. Like her opinion didn't matter. She was the _Queen. She_ made the descions, not Tyrion Lannister, not Jon Snow.

It didn't matter that she had been thinking it, too. Had thought about it. Knew it was the logical course. Suddenly she felt very much like a helpless little girl again, being sold off to the highest bidder. She felt betrayed. She felt powerless. She wanted to curl up in a ball and ignore all of them, _men,_ deciding her fate like they _owned_ her. How dare they. She had worked _hard_ to not feel like this ever, ever again.

But...

She _had_ already been thinking it. And Tyrion was much smarter than anyone in the world, of course he would know. Of course he would connect the dots. _Of course_ he would see the little glances between them and work out what they meant. And politically, a marriage to Jon Snow would make perfect sense.

But still, how _dare_ he discuss this with Jon Snow before her. He was _her_ hand, _not_ the King in the North's. Jon Snow sat up. She watched him, wary. But his eyes still held that softness. He knew he'd overstepped his bounds and now he sat, sheepish. She softened. She would give him the benefit of the doubt.

"What did he say?"

So he explained to her, in detail, everything they had discussed. Tyrion had worked it out, somehow, and broached the subject of their relationship. They discussed her and Tyrion's conversation in Meeren after she had left Daario. Tyrion had told Jon that a marriage alliance was inevitable. How he had listed off people she had never known and people she had despised as possible marriage candidates. Including _Jamie Lannister-_ something she would have to discuss with Tyrion about later (because how dare the thought even cross his mind, was he _sure_ where his loyalties lied?); how Jon had doubted that he would have ever been put on that list because he was a bastard-but Tyrion had said, no, in fact, he was Tyrion's first choice.

"But it was us he was worried about," Jon said. "Our feelings for each other. Whatever this is, whatever we want it to be. He was worried it would only complicate things. That my people would think you had bewitched me somehow with foreign magic. He said...in so many words...that ' _love is the death of duty.'_ That it would make us reckless, and forget our duties. Make us weak."

Jon's eyes fell. He sighed with a great weight.

"He said they would use it against us, to hurt us. That we had to use our love like armor against the world."

Dany felt her heart crack a little bit. Her hand was right. He was very rarely wrong. The cruelty of the world _would_ use their love against them, and they had to fortify their hearts against it, and protect each other. So that their love did not make them forget their place in this world. They both had to save the people they were pledged to. She placed her fingertips under his chin, raised his head to look into her eyes.

"This... _this..._ what this is...this is real. Our feelings...for each other. It will not be weakness. I won't let it. _We_ won't let it. It will make us _strong_ , not weak."

"He said there was no way to hide it...our feelings would show through."

"Nor should we," she said fiercely.

They gazed into each other's eyes.

Jon's eyes became dark again with lust.

"Do you want this? Us? This, here now, and a marriage, with everything that comes with that?"

Dany thought. Conflicted. She wasn't sure if she should commit without talking to her advisors, but hadn't she just said that _she_ was the Queen? And Tyrion seemed to have already given his blessing...

"My Queen," he said, his eyes pleading. "I would not have come here last night if I knew there was even a slight possiblity that the answer to that question was 'no'."

Her gaze softened.

"Of course I do, Jon, I just...I don't like you both conspiring behind my back. It makes me feel like I'm being sold to the highest bidder."

"That was never my intention," he said quickly, harshly. "I didn't know I would run into Tyrion. I didn't know he would figure it out. Not before we figured out what _this_ was anyway."

"And what is, _this?_ " said Daenerys softly.

He looked down.

"Daenerys, you should know something about me. You know I grew up a bastard. You've no idea what that was like. How it made me feel. I swore to myself I would never lie with a woman, because I didn't want to bring _another bastard_ into the world. And I still feel that way. I don't sleep with women idly. I've only ever been in front of a whore once...my brother paid her, thought it was time for me to lie with a woman. But I couldn't. I couldn't do it. I couldn't add another Snow to the world."

 _Was he a virgin? No way was he a virgin. He was too good._

"I know what you're thinking and I'm not. I _have_ been with a woman before. I committed myself to her. A wilding girl with fiery red hair. I loved her, and she loved me. I knew I would never leave her. We were married in our hearts."

"What happened?" said Daenerys softly. He heaved a great sigh. Pain flickered across his features, and she suspected he had never talked about this with anyone before.

"She was killed by an arrow to the heart from my _brother_ " -he spat the word- "of the Night's Watch. I held her as she died. I burned her body beyond the wall. I wouldn't ever want her to become one of those _things._ "

Her heart ached. She knew his pain. _Gods,_ she knew that pain. she still carried it with her in her heart.

"Jon...I understand. I too lost my _shekh ma shieraki anni._ My _sun and stars._ I had to..."

Her voice caught in her throat. Her hands curled together in her lap.

"The Witch who killed him brought him back to life as a husk of a man after I begged her to use blood magic. She sacrificed his horse and my child...though I did not know the price would be so high. He could do naught, not speak, not recognize his surroundings. He didn't even know I was there. Didn't even recognize me."

Tears filled her eyes. He filled her hands with his, and she felt the strength to continue.

"I couldn't watch it any longer. He was not my husband. He was not a _Khal._ He was not a warrior. He was not even human. I suffocated him with a pillow. I burned his body and that foul witch alive in the funeral pyre and fire that birthed my dragons."

She looked up. He gave her hands a gentle squeeze.

"I shoud have died in that fire. But something told me I wouldn't. _Zaldrīzo ānogar iksan._ I am the Blood of the Dragon."

"Daenerys," he whispered gently. Her heart began to race. she felt the fire burn her veins.

They exchanged a long look. His eyes grew dark and husky again.

"I don't know what it is," she continued. "I don't know why I should have this power when my brothers, my father...did not...this power has not graced our family since we lost the dragons ages ago. But I _am_ , for some reason I cannot explain...I am the Unburnt. Fire courses through my veins. And fire cannot kill a dragon. Do you understand?"

She did not expect him to. She didn't know how to explain why or how. All she knew was that she could never be burnt, not even by dragonfire. And it had made her strong.

He had that look on his face again. Dark and husky and needing. The same look as when he had knocked on her door last night.

"I think, right now...I think I do," he murmured.

She felt trapped by those eyes again.

"It's the same feeling that calls me to you," she finished.

"Daenerys," he said huskily, "I want you to know what this is to me. You have to understand. I don't lie with woman unless I intend to spend the rest of my life with them. Daenerys, I want to spend my days with you...what little might be left. Regardless of the political reasons, they don't matter. Not really. Whatever the threat, I love you."

She softened. And finally she forgave him for speaking to Tyrion behind her back.

"Im glad," she whispered. "I want to spend my days with you, too, Jon Snow. For I love you as well. I never thought I would again, but here I am. I love you."

They were so close now...

She firmed her grasp in his hands. He squeezed back, a thumb brushing the back of her hand.

"Daenerys," he whispered. And she melted before him.

"Jon," she murmured against his lips.

Their lips melted together like soft pads of sweet cream, tounges gently entwined together. Soft and sweet. His hand cupped her head.

She moaned into his mouth and he swallowed her lips again, hand firmly holding her head.

"Oh, my Queen," he whispered, pulling back. "I want to be your King."

Her heart raced. Suddenly that feeling was back, of submissiveness, the need for her to submit to whatever he wanted. _Whatever he wants, I will give it to him._

Her breath sharpened, and with a husky growl he guided her down- _threw her down_ -to the pillows and covered herself with his body. Her legs quickly spread apart, welcoming him. She was already so wet, still slick with his seed from the night before. He kissed his way down and this time she knew it was coming, as he placed his lips on hers between her legs. And she let out a low sigh.

 _"My king,"_ she moaned.

He growled. Gripped her tighter, burrowing his nose deep into her folds, inhaling deeply. Gods, there was something so beautiful about that. Her heart pounded and her breath was short.

He encircled her nub with his tounge, hot breath lighting her very soul on fire.

 _Dracarys._

He breathed fire into her loins.

His swept the flat of his tongue against the entirety of her slit suddenly, and she moaned aloud.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, and he moaned, growling like the White Wolf he was, and began to _eat her_ , really, _eat her_ with fervor _...gods..._

His tongue...his _tongue_... could work magic, she decided. His mouth captured her lips fully, suckling and licking and probing and _oh..._

And thought began to leave her body, there was only feeling. Her legs entwined around his arms and he squeezed her thighs tightly, holding himself to her bucking hips, relentless. Her hands found the messy half-bun on the back of his head and began to loosen it, working her fingers into his hair and grasping tightly.

He moaned again, deeper than before, sending vibration through her pelvis and up her spine and she shuddered.

 _"Jon,"_ she gasped.

She felt him grin against her lips.

Rythmically, he began to stroke with his tongue, slowly at first, and then quicker, faster, harder...and then he slowed again, sending waves of intense pleasure through her whole body. Then he sped up again, and on and on it went until Daenerys could take no more.

Then, suddenly, he pulled back, and locked eyes with her.

She couldn't breathe.

Then, _then,_ he set her on fire and sent chills through her whole body by blowing, very gently, cool air over her lips.

She let out a stuttered little moan, and gripped the bedsheets tightly between her hands, her back arching up to meet his face again, which he gladly accepted, smashing his mouth onto her lips, quicker, faster, intensely...and then he let go of a leg and slipped a finger inside her, hooking it around the large nub behind her pelvic bone, and wave after wave of pleasure convulsed her whole body as he ate her alive, her walls tightening and releasing, powerfully...so powerfully she worried she might hurt his finger but he continued pushing at _that spot_...not stopping as she whimpered and moaned, breathless, his tounge working circles around the tiny nub between her folds that was the center of every bit of pleasure in her body.

Her orgasm lasted forever. As it faded, she was left shaking and trembling. Her legs could not support their own weight anymore as they trembled and collapsed at Jon's sides. His tounge continued to work slowly, not releasing her from her pleasure and pain. Her body convulsed, twitching. _She had never come so hard in her entire life._

But he did not stop there.

He released her, and suddenly he was there, suddenly his length in her was all she knew, and she saw nothing but waves of black and Jon's soft brown eyes hovering above her as he thrust into her, again and again and again and she came _again,_ harder, deeper than before. She felt her whole womb convulse and then hot jets of his seed filled her up and they were both coming...coming... _coming..._

His lips captured hers. She could not breathe. She blacked out in a haze of pleasure.

She did not know when she regained her mobility, but she slowly returned to life, and was able to twitch her fingers sporadically through his hair - _how did her fingers get so tangled in it-_ and feel his warm, sporadic breath on her neck, his lips kissing her skin weakly. His weight pressed against her body-stopping her from floating away.

She felt soft tugs at her scalp as he gently stroked her hair between his thumb and fingers as a sensory feeling to bring himself back to life.

Daenerys just lay there, trying to catch her shattered breath.

"That was..." she gasped.

"Yeah," he murmered.

And he rolled off her gently but did not let her go, instead pulling her towards him, tucking her into his chest and reinserted his still-firm but softening member into her.

She took a deep, shuddering breath and burrowed her nose into his chest. Her whole body was trembling still, only his arms tightly around her held her together.

They lay there like that until their hearts had returned to a normal rythm and their breathing became relaxed and steady.

Daenerys had almost dozed off again when suddenly there was a knock on the door.

Both of them instantly sprang into high alert.

"Just a moment," called Daenerys, as she rushed to get a dressing gown.

"It's me," and Daenerys recognized Missandei's voice and instantly relaxed. She slipped her arms through the sleeves and wrapped the soft fabric around her naked body.

"It's alright," she told Jon, who was rushing to get his clothes back on with a terrified expression on his face. "It's Missandei."

Jon looked like he was about to protest, but she gave him a commanding look and, sheepish, returned to the bed and slipped under the covers.

Daenerys opened the door halfway and met her closest friend's eyes.

Instantly she knew something was up, and her eyes traveled to the bed, where Jon lay, blushing and studiously avoiding the two women, looking out the window.

Missandei stifled a smile and exchanged a knowing look with her Queen, who blushed and also stifled a smile.

"I'll come back later," said Missandei softly, corners of her mouth tight with amusement and happiness.

"Thank you," whispered Daenerys gratefully.

The two woman exchanged another knowing, happy look, then her part-haidmaiden-part-advisor-part-closest-friend left, and Dany shut the door.

"Gods," breathed Jon.

"She comes every morning to help me dress, she _is_ my haidmaiden, translator, most trusted advisor and my closest friend, my sister in all but blood. She will not tell a soul."

Jon huffed softly.

"Doesn't help me recover from my heart attack," he mumbled.

Daenerys grinned again.

"Oh, quit," he said, looking at her face. "I should go before someone less trustworthy walks in that door."

Her face fell. She did not want him to leave.

"Oh," she said. "Right."

He stood. He had managed to get his tight leather pants on, his bare feet padded across the floor and she felt her wetness return as she stared at his bare chest coming towards her. The closer her got, the faster her heart raced. He slid a hand under her jaw and forced her to look at him. She softened once again at his touch and felt dizzy.

 _Would this happen everytime, this feeling of being so...dizzy?_

"I'll come back again tonight," he murmed huskily. Her breath caught in her throat and she tried to retain her dignity.

"Good," she said, with all the authority of a Queen. "I will expect you."

"Good," he said, eyes dancing and mouth smiling-or was it a snarl? Gods, it made her hot.

His lips hovered a but a few hairs from hers but he did not touch as their eyes lowered to each other's lips. Her heart raced... _what was he waiting for?_

And suddenly he pulled away without kissing her, leaving her breathless and wanting. She watched, open-mouthed and in awe, the only thing supporting her the door at her back as her legs trembled, as he put his clothes back on, one by one and left her there, dying, aching with need. Did he know what he had just done to her? He must have known the effect it would have...

As he sat on the bed to pull his boots on, she watched him softly. Everything had changed.

He stood. Looked at her.

She loathed to be seperate from him, even for a moment.

"Jon..." she said shakily.

"Hey," he whispered, eyebrows furrowing, crossing the room in two long strides to capture her in his arms. "It's alright. Everything will be alright."

She buried her face in his leathers. His hand held her at the back of the head there, chin resting on her hair, and she took a few shuddering breaths, feeling such a release at his touch she was overwhelmed.

He held her tighter, buried his nose in her hair. After a while, they broke apart, and he cupped her face.

"I will come to you tonight," he said, looking deep into her eyes. His face was dead serious. "and tommorow night, and the night after that, and every night to come, my Queen. That I vow to you."

She cupped his face, overwhelmed.

"I will welcome you with open arms this night, and every night to come, Jon Snow. That _I_ vow to _you._ "

He pressed his forehead to hers.

"I am yours," he whispered. Her eyes widened. Her breath caught in her throat. "And you are mine."

"From this day," she said, voice quivering, "until the end of my days."

He kissed her, gently, softly, lovingly.

And then he left, closing the door softly behind him, leaving Daenerys to slide down the door behind him, breathless.

 _Oh, Jon Snow..._

 **A/N:** _gaaaaaahhhhhh_

 _I expire._

 _please_ _ **REVIEW!**_


	4. Blood of the Dragon

_**A/n:**_ _Y'all ain't ready for this shit._

 _I ain't even ready for this shit, and I wrote the damn thing._

 **JON**

And he did-He came to her cabin that night, and the next night, and the night after that, and every night to come. They made love every night, and whispered promises in each other's ears, and their bond grew stronger and stronger by the day.

And every night she welcomed him with open arms, eagerly awaiting him.

During the day they made battle plans, and talked about armies and the dead, and they tried to avoid each other's eyes and stand as far apart as possible. She would watch him across the table, surly and serious, as he talked about what was to await them when they reached Winterfell, until he looked up and met her eyes. She would blush and his heart would soften for a moment before he steeled himself again and spoke of the ways the dead could be defeated.

It was chilly mid-day when they met above decks after a particularly grueling session where they had discussed the northern lords, and Tyrion had been strangely quiet. Marriage had yet to come up. Jon suspected he was waiting for something.

They were nearly three quarters of the way to White Harbor, and the mood on the ship had grown more tense the closer they got. Everyone knew what awaited them, and it made them somber.

But today was beautiful, and he couldn't stand to be cooped up any longer, so he'd gone above decks to breath the salty sea air and listen to the sea and watch the dragons.

He had spotted her at the bow, watching the dragons soar high above them, silver braid softly blowing in the wind. He watched her for a moment-just watched her. She wore her white fur coat she had worn beyond the wall-it had gotten so cold now that she'd needed it. The day was gray and cloudy and her hair glowed in the dimness like the sun had fled from behind the clouds and decided that is was to glow from her head, instead of the sky.

She was so beautiful.

He came up and stood beside her. She leaned closer, but they did not touch. He followed her gaze, watching the magnificent creatures circle high above them.

"They're beautiful," he said after a while. They more he had watched them, the more he had gotten over the fear and shock, the more in awe of them he grew. They truly were - _beautiful_ creatures.

"Yes," she said. He looked at her. Her cheeks were wet.

"Are you alright?"

She sighed. Her lip trembled, but she stood strong.

"He's really gone," she said quietly. "Viserion. He's really gone."

Her voice tore at his heart like knives. He wanted to take her in his arms then and there, as if he could squeeze the grief right out of her.

But he couldn't.

"Oh, love," he whispered, so only the two of them could hear. "I'm so sorry."

She did not respond, but leaned into him, closing her eyes in pain. He wanted to comfort her so badly.

"I can't take back what's happened, but I will do everything in my power to never let it happen again."

Her eyes lowered.

The dragons roared above them, as if they could sense and share her pain.

"I could tell them apart, you know," she said softly. "From a thousand miles away, I could tell their cries apart. But I never noticed ...not until one was gone."

Her voice broke and fell.

Jon stood closer to her, so that his thick furs obscured their hands from view, and grasped hers tightly. She held onto his like it was her lifeline. They stood there together and just breathed, sharing her grief together, listening to the sound of the ship crashing against the waves, and the roar of her two beautiful dragons, watching them.

After a while she sniffed heavily, sighed. She looked at him, and a questioning look sprang onto her face.

"You never got to ride one, beyond the wall, did you? Everyone else but you."

Jon frowned.

"No, and it's one of my greatest regrets. What a privilege that would have been."

"Would you like to now?"

His face snapped to hers.

"What?" 

She looked at him. A mischevious smile tugged at her lips.

"Jon Snow, will you do me the honor of going for a ride with me?"

His jaw dropped. He was speechless.

"I'll take that as a yes," she smiled. She looked up at her dragons. Closed her eyes.

They roared.

And they dived.

Jon watched in open-mouthed amazement.

"How...?"

Daenerys smiled mysteriously.

Drogon dived into the water close, arching a spray of sea water over them all, and the ship rocked heavily with the wave created. Jon heard a few soft screams of surprise, but they quickly faded as they realized what it was. Daenerys turned away from the bow and Jon followed her.

Drogon swam up very close to the side of the ship, and stretched out his wing, spraying the deck with water made hot by his scales.

It was only a very small step from the side of the deck to the crook of his wing, and Daenerys made the leap easily, walking like a nimble cat along her dragon's wing. Drogon held very steady for her. She stood on his back and turned to Jon.

"Coming, Jon Snow?"

Jon took a deep, steadying breath. He was no coward, but this made him unsure at best.

And, displaying great bravery and trust in the beast before him, stepped off the deck and onto the knuckle of Drogon's wing. Shakily and unsteadily, he made his way towards Daenerys, keeping his eyes fixed on where he was planting his feet. He didn't know how she made it look so easy.

When he reached the more or less solid position of Drogon's shoulder blades, he threw himself down heavily, clinging to Drogon's scales tightly. Daenerys sat neatly in front of him, and Drogon returned his wing to his body and paddled a distance away from the boat.

Daenerys looked over her shoulder at him.

"Are you ready, Jon Snow?" she asked him. He knew she would not go till he said so. He settled in deeper and closer to Dany, arms on either side of her, grabbing the tips of the webbed spikes tightly, like he had seen Daenerys do before, behind the ones she held, his legs gripping tightly like he would a horse, but with difficulty, as it's back was so much wider. Drogon flicked his skin in response, like a horse might as a fly landed on it's skin, throwing Jon off balance and scaring the shit out of him.

"There's no need to grip so tight," said Daenerys. "We won't let you fall."

Jon tried to relax.

"Ready?" she asked again. Jon jerkily nodded his head. He saw her smile, wide and true.

" _Sōvēs!"_ shouted Daenerys, her voice rang high and true, and the dragon responded to her command.

Jon felt a jolt as the Drogon spread his wings and air rushed under them, heard the rush of wind and the spray of the salt sea, felt a heavy pull on himself, like he had suddenly become twice as heavy, as Drogon flapped again, and Jon couldn't help but cry out in surprise. And suddenly they were airborne, and the sea rushed beneath them.

His weight did not return to normal until another few flaps, and when he finally regained himself he felt himself trembling with adrenaline. _They were flying._

"Woah," he managed to gasp out. He hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath. He heard his Queen laugh, high and free, and they rose even higher.

And Jon felt himself begin to relax and enjoy it.

His heart was hammering as he felt the salty, icy wind at his face. He could _breathe_ agian, really breathe. He'd never felt so... _free._

"This is amazing!" he shouted over the wind.

Dany did not answer and for a second he feared she did not hear him, but he caught sight of a grin as she looked over Drogon's back to check their height.

"Hang on!' she shouted. Jon's eyes widened and he gripped tighter.

And she dived.

His heart lept into his throat as he suddenly felt weightless.

Her shouts of excitement rang in his ears and he felt a laugh work it's way up his throat.

 _Was this what it meant to be truly free?_

Drogon roared.

Jon laughed, a true laugh such as he never had in his life, without restraint. His whole body shook with it as he screamed his freedom to the heavens and Daenerys's voice called out to match his.

 _This is how it's supposed to be._

It was the best feeling in the world.

Daenerys pulled Drogon up again and they were soaring, higher and higher above the sea. and when the air became thin, Daenerys turned Drogon and he pulled and dived and twisted. Jon felt weightless and free as they dived and then solid and heavy as he pulled up, as she took them for a _real_ ride.

Jon had never enjoyed himself so much in his life. For the first time in his life, he felt all of his burdens lift, and he was free.

Jon looked down.

The ship was a tiny little speck. The coast, which he hadn't been able to see from the ship, now seemed so close to it, only a stone's throw, really. He could see tiny little people moving around on the ship, calling to each other, some of them with their heads tilted up, watching them fly. He couldn't make out who the faces belonged to.

"It seems we have an audience!" said Jon.

Daenerys looked down. A flicker of annoyance fled across her face, but it soon passed and she grinned, leaning back and meeting Jon's eyes with a mischievious glance.

"Well, let's give them a show, then," she said. She looked back at him. He grew nervous.

"Do you trust me, Jon Snow?" she asked. He looked into her eyes.

"Yes," he said softly. Daenerys smiled gently.

"Then hang on."

Jon gripped his spikes tighter and clenched his legs.

And they dived once more. The wind sped past them, rushing in Jon's ears and he was weightless once again. But Daenerys didn't pull up again. They dived, hard and fast. He heard her laughing and he knew she was about to do something unexpected. He braced himself.

"Daener-"

" _DRACARYS!"_ she shouted.

Suddenly he was terrified. He ducked behind her, knowing she was immune, but acutely aware that he was not, and they were engulfed in hot flames as it rolled from Drogon's mouth into a giant fireball.

He felt the heat engulf him, and he cried out, expecting to smell at any moment the burning of his hair and skin and flesh.

But the flames did not touch him.

It rolled around them and over them, slipping over Drogon's wings like water, a barrier of protection created by the wind against Drogon's scales and broken by his neck and head. They burst through the flames and onto the other side, and he heard Drogon roar and echoes of screams from below as Drogon's wings stiffened, turning them upwards again into the sky.

"DID YOU KNOW THAT WOULDN'T KILL ME?" he shouted at her, aghast, his heart hammering.

She looked back and grinned.

 _"Daenerys,"_ he screamed to the wind. She only laughed. and he let out the breath that had caught in his throat and began to laugh.

 _Gods, this woman,_ he thought, heart leaping.

She flew them high up into the sky again.

After a while the faces below lost interest and went back to whatever they were doing.

Jon felt himself relax again, heart rate returning to normal. He leaned into Daenerys.

There was a moment of calm, with only the wind whistling in his eyes and the wind at his face. He inhaled the thin, high air deeply. Daenerys leaned back into his chest, and he buried his face in her furs.

"Daenerys," he murmered into her ear, the closeness cutting out the sound of the wind. She nuzzled him gently. " _Thank you."_

He saw her smile softly.

"You are very welcome, Jon Snow."

"Gods, this is ... wonderful," he said.

Her face cleared and she blinked in the wind. He thought he felt a salty wetness spray his cheek from hers as she smiled, big and wide.

"Yes," she said simply.

Drogon continued to glide softly a distance.

"Do you want to fly him?" she asked suddenly.

"What?" he said in surprise, eyes widening. "I don't think I could-"

"Don't be ridiculous," said Daenerys, and she grasped onto a spike with one hand and slid from her seat, feet sturdy on Drogon's lower webbed spikes, and threw herself over Drogon, sitting behind him, and suddenly _he_ was in charge. His heart hammered with nervousness.

Drogon's skin shook beneath Jon again, but it did not unseat him this time.

"Move forward," said Daenerys. "Or he won't know what you want him to do. Those are his most sensitive spikes in front of you."

Terrified, Jon scooted forward. It was a much more natural seat, as he was nestled in between his shoulders and his neck, and he could feel every movement of the muscle beneath him from here. If Drogon turned his neck, even a hair, he would feel it instantly.

"Do you feel him?" whispered Daenerys in his ear, she had moved up to sit right behind him, every part of her body touching him.

"Yes," breathed Jon, though his words were lost to the wind. He nodded.

"Good," she said, and wrapped her hands around his arms, guiding his movements. "Pull his spikes gently to the left."

Jon did as she commanded, and Drogon responded with a twitch of his neck, but he hardly turned.

"You have to connect with him," she said softly. " _Feel him."_

Jon reached out his hand to the hot scales.

"No, not like that," said Daenerys. she wrapped her arms around his chest and rested her hands over his heart. " _In here."_

Jon furrowed his eyebrows, confused. But he was determined. He closed his eyes.

He could feel every movement of the beast below him, his every deep breath, every flap of the wing. Every tiny little movement. Could feel the heat radiating off its scales beneath his thighs and felt the fire deep within it's belly. But there was...more.

Something primal.

Some heat deep within Jon, radiating from the animal below him, deep within his ( _Their?)_ soul, rose up, burned at him, clawed at his throat and set him on fire, but he did not burn. It boiled in his very veins. Burst at him with every beat of his heart...or was it the Dragons' hearts?

He felt them roar. Felt hearts thrum. Not just Drogon beneath him but Rhaegal off in the distance, and Daenerys behind him...and there was something missing...something...an icy, echoey ache that ran deeper than any cavern in the world. It burned, _really burned,_ not like fire but like ice, and he recoiled, eyes snapping open, pulling back so quickly that Drogon flinched. Jon was breathing very heavy. His heart was hammering. The icy air of reality seeped in like a Winter blizzard. He suddenly felt very cold.

Daenerys was looking at him strangely.

"Jon...?" she said.

 _What in seven hells was that?_

He couldn't talk. He could barely breathe.

"Did you...?" he knew he felt her there, knew she had felt _him_. "Did you feel that?"

"Feel what?" she asked.

"The Dragons..."

Her eyes cleared. She understood.

"I always feel them," she said. _"Always."_

And suddenly Jon understood.

"But that...that _pain..."_

Her lip trembled.

"Viserion," she whispered.

Jon wanted to howl.

" _Gods,"_ he said instead.

"I'm sorry Jon, I should have warned you. I didn't think you'd actually feel it so..."

She trailed off. She was looking at him oddly again.

Jon didn't like that look. It felt like she saw some part of him that he did not know existed.

He turned again to face forward. Drogon thrummed beneath him. 

"Teach me how to fly this damn thing."

And so she did.

It took over an hour for him to feel like he had grasped the basics. It was more instinct than instruction, he learned. _He_ didn't tell the dragon what to do. The dragon did what it wanted to do, Jon merely gave suggestions, and _hopefully,_ Drogon would agree with where he wanted to go, or ... he would not.

 _"Zaldrīzes dohaeriros iksos daor,"_ Daenerys told him. " _A dragon is not a slave."_

Jon fully began to respect that now.

"Nor is he a horse, who will simply go where you lead with a flick of the reins. That's why the connection is important," she explained. "With no connection, how can you truly explain your intent to him? Why should he listen if you do not tell him _why_ he should do a thing in a way he understands?"

Jon thought he was begining to understand.

After Daenerys felt he had grasped the basics and had him go through the motions of turning, diving, and gaining altitude, she wrapped her arms around him and let him fly to his hearts content, resting her head on his back, breathing deeply, and Jon felt at peace.

He circled for sometime, then did figure eights, just trying to feel more at ease with Drogon and not stray too far from the ship, and the dragon was very patient with him, sometimes he would get snippy and resisitant, but Jon would reach out for the connection again, though as lightly as he could-he did not want to feel that ever-present pain-and Drogon would relax and follow his instruction, seeming to understand what he wanted on an instinctual level. When he felt more confident he felt he could attempt some of the twists and turns that Daenerys had displayed earlier, and felt himself soar. After he'd had his fun he leveled out over the sea, at an angle to the sunset so they could see without blinding Drogon, and coasted.

"You're really a very good teacher," he said to Daenerys after a while.

She raised her head. Reached up and kissed him on the cheek.

"Thank you, Jon."

The sun had grown low in the sky, lighting up the gray clouds with a golden shimmer, and the sea with a bright golden light. Jon took a deep breath. He wanted to stay up here forever. But he knew they would be in trouble if they didn't return to the ship tonight.

He took a deep breath, letting Drogon glide where he wanted, leaning back into his beloved, who wrapped her arms tighter around him.

"I love you, Daenerys," he murmured.

"And I love you, Jon," she said softly.

"We should really go back at some point."

She raised her head. Sighed.

"Perhaps," she said, "Or perhaps we will stay up here until Drogon's wings tire, and we fall from the sky."

"I'd rather not risk that," said Jon with a laugh.

She sighed, though he sensed her smile.

"Oh, alright. Though I am not responsible for any tongue-lashings that will occur from our dear advisors."

"Oh, yes you are," he chuckled.

She gave him a soft swat.

"I am the _Queen,"_ she said commandingly.

Jon turned and kissed her nose. She looked like an angry wolf...but Jon was not afraid of her.

"Yes you are, dear."

She glared. Then a smile broke her face.

"It feels good to be carefree for once," she said, her voice growing serious. He sighed, nodding.

She squeezed him tight.

"Alright," she said after a long moment.

She scooched back, and Jon followed her. She repeated her movements from before in reverse, and she sat in front of him again. This time, he felt confident and secure enough on the Dragon's back to wrap his arms around Daenerys instead of gripping Drogon's spikes so tightly. He felt her relax in his arms.

They glided down slowly, as they watched the sun set and the sky grew dark. It grew slowly colder and colder, and Daenerys pulled her white coat tighter around her. Jon wrapped his furs around them both and he saw a single snowflake land in her silver-white hair as they approached the ship again.

"It's snowing," he said. She looked up, blinking as more flakes landed and melted on her cheeks.

Fear gripped him.

 _"Winter is coming,_ " he accidentally breathed aloud, echoing the Stark words.

Reality came down with a hard crash. There was a tense silence.

"We will beat them," said Daenerys softly, as if she sensed his thoughts. "We _must."_

He held her tightly.

"If we don't-"

"We _will,"_ she said.

" _If we don't-"_ he said over her, terror gripping his heart and speaking for him. _I can't lose you._ "I am taking you and running. We will go to Dragonstone with the Dragons and will not leave until the long night is over."

Her brow furrowed, troubled.

"Jon," she said delicately, "Oh, Jon. No."

She turned to him, letting go of Drogon. He continued to glide. She slid her leg over to turn completely around so she rode backwards to face him. She grabbed his face, looking fiercely into his eyes.

"Remember what Tyrion said. We cannot abandon our people. We fight or we die."

He knew that, he _knew_ that...but...but...

"My honor is not more important that _you."_

Her face grew angry.

"Stop," she said. "Don't say that. Not ever again. I don't ever want to hear talk of running _ever again_ , do you understand? _We fight or we die."_

Jon closed his eyes away from her piercing stare.

"This is too important, Jon."

It was so unlike Jon to say these things...but...his perspective had been changed so rapidly.

 _Love is the death of duty._

 _If the day should ever come where your lord father ever had to chose between honor on the one hand, and those he loves on the other, what would he chose?_

 _He would do whatever was right._

He had been so sure of it then, so sure.

But he had never really understood.

 _You know nothing, Jon Snow._

He opened his eyes and looked into her violet ones.

 _What is honor compared to a woman's love? What is duty, against the feel of a newborn babe in your arms?_

"I won't let anything happen to you," he said shakily.

"Jon," she said softly. A gentle warning. He was so lost already.

Then he kissed her, hard, desperate, as the snows fell around them.

 **A/n:** _whoops, I think I just broke Jon. GRRM would probably kill him off at this point, but I wouldn't dare. I'm so not in control of what they're doing. These dumb characters just took my idea and ran with it. What perfect assholes. I ONLY WANTED THEM TO FLY THE DAMN DRAGONS NOT BREAK MY FUCKING HEART. GODDAMMIT JON SNOW._


	5. Whispers and Words

**TYRION**

It had been a long morning.

It had been a long _trip._

Trapped on a boat with some of the most powerful people in the country, watching them all and their silly little politics and wargames. It wouldn't matter, not when they reached the wall. Their best laid plans would fall to bits when they faced the white walkers. Half their armies would run, of that he was sure. The other half would die, and join the army of the dead, only to chase down the other half and have _them_ die and join the army of the dead.

Tyrion sighed. He took a sip of wine.

The northern lords were a problem. Idiotic bunch that they were. He would be surprised if they didn't turn their backs on Jon the moment they found out he had bent the knee. And he knew Sansa never would bend the knee if the Lords decided to ...ah... _reappoint_ the crown...she wouldn't, not anymore. He was glad she was finally coming into her own and learning how smart she was, that at least Tyrion was grateful for. She had suffered so much at the hands of his family, and it ached his heart...he had wanted to help her in anyway he could. But the old Sansa would have done whatever those more powerful than her wished, just so she could survive to play another day at this horrible game.

Tyrion had been mostly silent this trip. Waiting. Watching. Drinking. Learning. Counting up those he saw come into realization that his Queen had fallen for the King in the North.

Missandei knew first. Of course she would. If Daenerys didn't tell her, she would have noticed when she changed the Queen's sheets. Tyrion knew she would not tell a soul. Varys was next, Tyrion had saw his sharp, beady eyes flick between the two of them at dinner, as they exchanged a secret glance they thought no one would see. Who knows what he was planning to do with the information, and Tyrion was fearful to find out, though he knew the eunuch would probably mean no harm to the Queen.

 _Less so than himself._

He breathed out hard and took a long sip of wine as if it would make him forget.

 _Pregnant,_ he spat out in his mind. _Pregnant._

How stupid. How foolish. Why now. _Why._

He forcefully pushed it to the back of his mind.

Then Davos, surprisingly. Though he should have realized he would have figured it out. He was the Hand to the King in the North in all but name. Tyrion had quickly realised Davos had taken Jon under his wing as a second son, perhaps to replace the one he had lost.

 _My fault._

Tyrion took a long draught of wine and swallowed hard.

Jorah knew. Jorah knew long before Tyrion had even seen Jon go into the Queen's cabin. Tyrion could tell the poor man was heartbroken...but he really didn't feel sorry for him, somehow. It just made Jorah boringly predictable. When would the man ever give it up? It was clear to everyone the Queen valued him much more as a friend and advisor than anything else.

Then there were a few of the sharper crewmen, and Tyrion would have to keep an eye on them. They were loyal to the Dragon Queen, but only insofar as the younger _Greyjoys_ were loyal to the Queen.

If they saw it begining to turn against them, if they were threatened by his sister...they would talk at the first sight of trouble. And once they hit the taverns in White Harbor, he feared the gossip that would spread...

They only needed to keep it hidden till they made it to Winterfell. And a little bit past that. If they could introduce the Queen to the Northern Lords, if Tyrion and the others could keep their superstitions at bay, just until they saw her fight for them...save their lives as she always would...her natural charm and leadership would sway them...or so Jon said.

Tyrion wasn't sure whether he trusted Jon's judgement so far.

Although he was courageous. He would give him that at least.

If he could convince the sisters and the younger brother...then perhaps they would have a chance...

He sighed. They had had to make things difficult by falling in love with each other.

Tyrion wasn't mad at them, not really. He knew how difficult it was to resist falling in love.

He refused to think of that treacherous woman's name. _How had he not seen..._

But never again.

He had thought about it, back in Meeren. Thought about letting it go and saying something...but it was never more than a fleeting thought, a passing glance he had shared with her, and then they had both remembered their seperate pain and left it at that. He'd never revisited it since. Neither of them would.

 _Was he in love with her,_ Jon Snow had had the audacity to ask.

Tyrion tsked.

Beautiful their Queen might be, he had always known she was meant for bigger things than him.

Tyrion tutted again.

 _Oh, look, now_ I'm _the one making dwarf jokes,_ he thought dryly.

Perhaps he had missed them in some twisted part of his brain, for no one had dared make a dwarf joke to him since he had become Hand to the Dragon Queen, no one except Euron Greyjoy.

 _The coward,_ thought Tyrion. Or perhaps he was wiser than them all. They, after all, were the ones going on a suicide mission...

He sighed.

The boat beneath his feet rocked suddenly, hard, and he went into high alert. _Were they under attack?_

He discarded his wine and rushed above decks. He was just in time to see Jon _Fucking_ Snow step onto the dragon's wing and take off with their Queen.

" _Fffff-uck,"_ he cursed quietly, sharply.

The people around him were all whispering as he made his way to the captain. He heard the gossip as he passed.

" _Was that the King in the North...with the Queen...?"_

 _"Where are they going?"_

 _"Perhaps they've decided to abandon us all..."_

 _"No, you idiot, they're in love, are you blind?"_

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Tyrion kept up a steady, silent stream of curses until he reached the hardened, sea-sailed man at the helm.

"Call everyone back to work, _now,"_ growled Tyrion.

The Captain, who had been watching the Dragons, looked down at Tyrion, scoffed.

"The lads have earned a bit of entertainment," he said, "if they want to watch the Dragon Queen fuck the King in the North on the back of a dragon, who am I to stop th-"

"Shut up, you _idiot,"_ said Tyrion harshly. "There's more at stake here than you realize. I don't want them blabbering about it. It endangers us all."

"They're not blind," said the Captain. "Like you thought they wouldn't notice. Have you seen the way he looks at her, and she at him? If I had a love like that and I knew what was ahead of me, I'd sail for the farthest, most deserted island I could find and not return till winter's over."

Tyrion took a deep breath. The man was trying his patience.

" _Please-"_ he started.

Suddenly, there were screams.

Tyrion turned to the sky.

His best two hopes for the world were engulfed in flame.

His jaw dropped, heart stopped. He took a step towards them, as if he could stop it.

But then they emerged from the fireball, Drogon flying high once again in the sky. He saw a speck of white and a speck of brown on Drogon's back as the flames extinguished, and Daenerys wasn't flying back down...nor did he see anyone plummeting to the sea... so he thought he could reasonably assume nobody was dead.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

 _When they get back, I swear to all seven hells..._

He looked back at the Captain. The man huffed.

"Alright, everyone, show's over, get back to work," the captain called. He heard sounds of disappointment from the main deck, and then all but a few shuffled back to what they were doing.

"Thank you," said Tyrion to the Iron-Borne.

All but Jorah, Varys, Missandei, and Davos, who stood on the bow of the ship, exchanging worried looks.

He quickly made his way to them. They all knew, and they all knew each other knew, now.

"Well," said Davos gruffly. "There's no hidin' it now. Everyone saw him ride off with her."

"Stupid idea," said Tyrion angrily. "What the _fuck_ were they thinking."

Varys shook his head.

"We could pay the crew off," said Jorah, "but gold only holds tongues until more gold loosens it...and it's a long way to Winterfell yet."

"It might be the best we can do for now," said Tyrion. "Gold, and threaten them with Dragonfire should they gossip once we reach White Harbor. Word of this must not reach the north."

"I'll talk to the Captain," said Davos. He left.

Tyrion nodded. He looked up to Drogon and his riders as they flew away to nothing but a speck in the sky.

" _Fuck,"_ he muttered. Ignoring the rest of them, he walked away to fetch his wine.

When he returned, only Varys remained, ever watchful of the black speck in the sky.

Tyrion sat down next to him. Offered him the wineskin.

Varys looked at it. Hesitated. Then took it and took a long drink.

"Seems the more time we spend together, the more of your bad habits I pick up," said Varys bitterly.

"Fucking _idiots,_ " spat Tyrion, anger boiling at him. "I told them-I told Snow-"

"Since when do they ever listen to us?" said Varys defeatedly.

"Keep it hidden till Winterfell-that's all I asked of them. That's _it._ And they couldn't even fucking do _that-"_

"You intended them to marry," concluded Varys.

"Yes," said Tyrion.

"Then you'd reached the same conclusion I had. But this complicates things."

"I didn't know they'd fall for one another. Not so quickly at least. I thought they could wait. I thought they were _smart_ enough to wait. But no."

Varys side-eyed him.

"We're the only smart ones," said Varys. "The only ones left that can see the wheels turning in this game."

Tyrion glanced at him.

Varys exchanged a quick look with the dwarf.

"Littlefinger is dead," said the eunuch. "His throat slit by his own dagger. I received a raven from one of my little birds."

"You've been rebuilding," said Tyrion.

"Did you think I was sitting idly by, drinking wine, like you? No. Our Queen needs little birds now more than ever."

"Who killed him?"

Varys gave him an amused look, but his eyes were concerned.

"' _Winter came for Lord Baelish.'"_ he quoted.

Tyrion eyed Varys warily.

"As it came for the Freys," he said.

"Yes. As it came for the Freys. Except this time they were all in on it-all of the Starks except Jon. Arya Stark was the one to draw the blade across his throat, although Sansa gave the order."

Tyrion took a long drink of wine.

"Good riddance," said Tyrion after a while. "He was a dangerous man who would see the kingdom burn."

"I know what he was. Better than anyone in the world, I knew what he was."

They were silent.

"Is it true what they're saying about her-about Arya Stark?"

"It's even worse than what they're saying, if what i've gathered is true."

"Gods, for her to be dead all these years and then to come back like this..."

"Is it safe for our Queen to be near her?" said Tyrion.

"I don't know," said Varys. "It could go one way, could go the other. For now, it looks like a pack of Wolves awaits our coming, and who knows whether they will welcome us or..."

Varys did not finish his sentence.

Tyrion took a drink.

"Hopefully Jon can curtail them."

"Hopefully," said Varys. He was silent. "I've heard that Bran Stark is...odd."

"In what way?" said Tyrion.

Vary's thin brows furrowed.

"They say he went beyond the wall, and has now returned...and he..."

Varys trailed off, troubled.

"What?"

"I'm not sure. I've heard differing whispers. It seems they might be trying to keep it hidden...although they say he knew things...things he couldn't have possibly known...things no one could have known..."

 _"Chaos is a ladder..."_ Tyrion heard him mutter under his breath.

Varys was silent, he seemed lost in his mind. Tyrion did not push him. They were silent.

"I've always sort of rooted for the Starks," said Tyrion after a while, changing the subject. "Even when they were against my family. I like Jon. I liked Ned. I even liked Caitlyn, though she held me in captivity. She only did what she did to protect the pack. They've always been very resiliant. And Sansa...especially Sansa. I always knew she would survive us all...and perhaps she will, still. There's something about the Starks I can't help but admire. Perhaps it that whole _Honer and Duty-"_ he said, dropping his voice into a northerner's tough, harsh growl. He waved his hand vaguely. "-thing."

"No one deserved revenge more than the Starks," said Varys quietly. "No one has had more injustices done against them since Jon Arryn died. No one suffers more at the hands of a dishonest game than honest people."

Tyrion nodded.

Tyrion had a brief moment of madness then. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad for him to know. Perhaps-It was on the tip of his tongue before he caught it and swallowed it back down. Hard.

 _Pregnant._

Tyrion up-ended the wine skin into his mouth.

 _How could they be so stupid._

The whole country would know it was Jamie's...without a doubt...everyone knew, gods, even the _wildlings_ knew. They wouldn't be able to hide it. Even if Cersei married, and quickly, no one would believe it wasn't Jamie's. And then he could add another bastard to his pile of dead nephews and nieces. But what could he do about it, now...she sat on the Iron Throne. She could do whatever she wished...and another innocent child would suffer...or, gods forbid...the realm would suffer...they didn't need another Joffery.

He took a deep, shuddering breath.

Drank more wine.

"You're starting to drink heavily again," said Varys softly. "I've noticed it ever since we left King's Landing."

"Why do you care," said Tyrion harshly.

"Because I don't want a repeat of your vomit getting all over my clothes, and I don't want to have to watch you withdrawal again."

Tyrion had a strong urge to roll his eyes.

Instead he drank more wine, just out of spite.

Varys frowned.

"Do what you will," said Varys, standing up. "But please don't forget your duty to our Queen...or the threat which we all face when we reach Winterfell. We will need more than swords to defeat the dead." Varys leaned down to give him a glaring look. "We will need _sharp, clear minds_ as well."

He walked away. Tyrion tsked darkly.

He sat on the bow, drinking, thinking, watching the dragon soar high above them, as the sun lowered in the sky.

Someone brought him furs, and he covered himself. It grew colder and colder as the sun set. His wineskin was almost empty when the sun slipped below the horizon, and the temperature dropped noticably.

He watched as the largest of the Dragons grew closer to the boat.

 _About time,_ he thought grumpily. He could have gone inside, it's not like he wouldn't have noticed their return and could talk to them then, but he was stubborn, and they had left him alone, and he liked to think.

He had alot to think about.

He stood, to meet them at the deck immediately upon their return, but something stopped him as he moved to pick up his wineskin.

A single snowflake had fallen delicately, gently, to the leather, before it melted into a small drop of water. Tyrion's heart stopped. He looked up to the sky to see soft flecks of snow starting to drift gently into the sea.

His heart dropped into his belly, and he closed his eyes.

 _Winter is coming._

 **A/N:** _I absolutely love Tyrion and Varys' unlikely 's one of the more entertaining things on the show, IMHO, and I was disappointed we only got one little snippet of a scene with them in s7. (They both had like, almost no character development this season until Tyrion's bit at the end. So disappoint) I know, sorry, no Jonerys this chapter, but I felt like we needed to feel the impact of what they'd done._

 _Anyway, let me know how you liked this chapter and leave a review!_


	6. Of Gods

**DAENERYS**

The rest of the trip towards White Harbor was torturous.

Tyrion had had words with the two of them. It was not something either of them had wanted to hear.

Nevertheless, they both agreed to keep their distance from each other for the rest of the trip...as Tyrion had explained, all would be lost if they could not sway the Northern Lords...and their relationship would not help sway them.

But it didn't make it any easier.

Jon still came to her at night, but in secret, in the dead of night, when the rest of the ship slept. He would hold her for a few hours and then painfully leave. Sometimes they made love, sometimes not...but they were always secret and quiet. He had sworn an oath, and he would not break it, not for anything in the world, and she loved that about him, infuriating as it may be sometimes. But not this time. She was grateful to him. They just had to be more careful.

They did not ride the Dragons again.

They would pass in the hall, and only nod briefly after making short eye contact. At meals they would sit as far away from each other as possible. The cramped galley barely allowed for it, but they did try. At meetings they were forced to sit at either heads of the table facing each other, but they would avoid eye contact unless they needed ot talk to each other. During their free time, they would not sit together and read or play games or watch the dragons as they had done before.

It was torment for her.

She missed him.

He was right in front of her, but she missed the intimacy she had grown accustomed to. She missed his warmth next to her. She missed his presence, their intimate conversations. They had grown to know each other very well, and to have their bond ripped apart like this was some fresh new hell for Dany.

By the time the ship pulled into White Harbor, it was a relief.

They only would be stopped for a day, to resupply the ship and to trade some of the crew, before they continued up the White Knife river and onto the King's Road and Winterfell.

She and Jon were also to meet with the Manderlys, who would greet them at the castle first thing after they had docked. She was anxious about that.

It was not Lord Wyman, nor his son Wylis, who both had taken up lodgings at Winterfell, but the family...the Lady Leona Woolfield, who was married to Wylis, and their two young daughters, Wynafryd and Wylla. The wife managed the city in the Lords' stead, as all the men had left for North, and taken a large part of the Manderly's army, leaving only enough guards to protect the city.

It would be her first proper introduction to Northerners, and Jon had been coaching her most of the day. He taught her the history of house Manderly, which she had known some of which but had never heard in full...and he had told her the brother had died at the Red Wedding alongside Robb Stark (which Jon had quickly glossed over, though Dany could sense his discomfort in speeaking of his lost brother,) and she was not to mention it. The Manderly's were amongst the most loyal of houses to the Starks, but Jon had told her that Northerners were a testy bunch, and, though not offended easily, they would be watching her...and word of her actions and the Lady's assesment of her character would be sent along to the Manderly Lords at Winterfell. What happened here could determine what the Lord's opinions of her was when they arrived, and it was important she come from a postion of strength, but also from a postion of compassion. It was important for her to also be warm and welcoming.

So it was difficult for her, when, after they had parted from Davos at the docks, and they had travelled up the winding streets of the city, through the gates guarded by men with tridents instead of spears, only to enter the castle and approached the Ladies in the courtyard, and they curtsied politely to _Jon_ after he greeted them _,_ and not _her._ Her temper flared.

"Lady Leona, might I introduce..." Jon hesitated. He had heard all her titles before, but she knew that for the life of him he could not remember them all. She realized that someday she would have to have Missandei teach him the thing in full, and how she had earned each title with fire and blood, and sweat and tears, and hunger and pain, and all of the terrible things she had been through.

"Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, First of her Name, Rightful Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Protector of the Realm, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains, Queen of Meeren and Lady of Dragonstone," finished Missandei. Jon gave her a greatful nod, and she gave him an amused look in return.

There was a moment, where Daenerys thought they would dare not bow, and her heart skipped a beat-fire sprang to her eyes-but then-

"Your Grace," said Lady Leona, and smoothly curtised. Her daughters followed suit swiftly. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise, Lady Manderly," said Daenerys politely. "Thank you for welcoming us into the city and your beautiful home."

Leona nodded politely.

"My husband and his father, the Lord of this Castle, apologize for not being here to greet you-they are away North in Winterfell."

"Yes, I have been informed. I'm sure I will have the pleasure of meeting them soon."

The Lady bowed her head.

The woman was unreadable.

"I'm sorry we won't be able to stay longer," said Jon, "but as I'm sure you understand we are in a great hurry to be North as quickly as possible."

"Yes, I have been informed of the situation," said Leona. She took a sharp breath. "I am glad we are farther south...but I do worry of my husband and father by marriage so close to danger."

There was a beat. The mood in the room darkened considerably.

"I will be sure to watch over them, My Lady," he said, "and they are strong, brave men, capable of handling themselves, though I cannot guarantee their safety. The threat is great and if we fail we are all doomed."

"Then I will pray you do not fail," she said, in a whisper.

Daenerys felt a sense of sadness at the woman's fear, a fear she shared, but must not show.

"I appreciate your prayers, my Lady," she said, "but we will not fail. _That_ I assure you. We will defeat the White Walkers, we _must_ defeat them, and your Lord Husband and his father will return to you, this I swear.

Lady Leonna gave her a sharp look. Daenerys could tell she didn't believe her.

"Still, I will pray," she said sharply. Daenerys glanced quickly at Jon out of the corner of her eye.

Jon coughed.

Leonna turned to him.

"I have prepared a company of ships to accompany you on your journey north along the river, along with armed men and supplies."

"I pray it will be enough to keep you safe on your journey to Winterfell."

"Thank you, my Lady," said Daenerys. "You are most gracious."

"And," she said, a sour look on her face, "as a gesture of good will, I have gifted you one of the finest silversmiths in the city. May he serve you well."

Daenerys' lips parted. She was touched, though she knew that this was not the Lady's idea.

She knew it would be rude to refuse.

 _The North is not like Slaver's Bay. The man is joining of his own free will,_ Daenerys reminded herself.

"Thank you, my Lady," she said, truly grateful. The woman's eyes shifted, and her expression softened.

"I have also taken the liberty of arranging a tour of the castle and city at your leisure, if it please your Grace," she said.

"Thank you, my Lady, that sounds pleasant. We have not had much of an opportunity to stretch our legs on our journey."

She nodded in response.

"I don't wish to keep you, your Graces," she said to Daenerys and Jon in turn. "I am sure you are tired after your long journey." 

"Of course, I am sure you have a great many matters to attend to," said Daenerys.

The Lady curtsied deeply and left.

Daenerys and Jon shared a look. He seemed to let out a breath he'd been holding.

He smiled at her. She smiled softly in return.

Their eyes lingered on each other's for half a moment.

Dany's heart began to race.

Then he looked away.

They had a light lunch and planned to go on the tour, but they left the others at the gates, Tyrion saying he'd rather explore the city on his own, and Missandei said she'd wanted to go to the shopping district for a bit, taking some guards with her, and Varys mysteriously snuck away, until there was just the two of them, Dany and Jon, and the 15 Unsullied who guarded Daenerys at all times, but did not count much for company, as they travelled at a distance behind, giving the Queen her privacy.

They met the oldest of the Lady's daughters on the tour, a girl of 14. She smiled at them. She was very sweet and pretty. She seemed a bit in awe, especially of Daenerys, but remained composed. Dany smiled warmly at her and she gushed.

"I'm to give you your tour, your Grace," she said, politely and voice sweet as honey.

"I look forward to it, my dear," said Daenerys gently.

There was a second, then the girl said, in a voice that suggested that she was not supposed to ask such a thing, "Is it true you have dragons? And that you ride them into battle? Like Aegon and Visenya and Rhaenys Targareyn?"

Her eyes were alight with excitement.

Daenerys smiled.

"Yes child, I do...they fly high above the city right now, so as not to scare your people."

The girl's face lifted in excitement.

" _Wow,"_ she breathed.

"My ancestors were idols of yours?"

The girl gushed in excitement.

"They're my sister and I's favorite story. Everyone talks about Aegon, but his sister-wives are the true heroes. Where would he have been without them?"

Daenerys grinned. They locked eyes, child to hero, and Daenerys felt her heart warm.

"I hope I get to be as great a hero as _you_ some day," said the child.

"I look forward to hearing of all of your great accomplishments," said Dany, beaming.

The girl grinned broadly, and Dany knew she'd made a friend.

She looked up, and Jon was smiling at her.

She first took them to the great hall, then the courtyard, then the battlements. The castle was marvelous-all white stone and high windows with views of the sea. Daenerys could still smell the salty sea air and heard the cry of gulls. She showed them the small sept, and then the godswood...where stood White Harbor's Weirwood Tree.

Dany had heard of them and they had been described to her before-but she had never actually seen one. She was not prepared for how they looked in reality-scraggy white twisting branches and glowing red leaves. But what made her feel uneasy was the face carved in the wood-hollow and empty, this one's mouth was especially stretched, like it was screaming. But it's eyes were strangely alive, and it gave her the shivers.

"Do you follow the old gods?" asked the girl. Dany hesitated.

"No," she said.

"Oh," she looked disappointed. "The Seven?"

Dany shook her head. The girl seemed curious.

"Then what?" 

Dany hesitated. No answer came to mind.

There were the Dothraki's Great Stallion...the light of eternal fire...the drowned god...the many-faced god...the Valyian Gods of her ancestors...but none of them fit. None of them were something she wanted nor could force herself to believe in. Dany did not trust nor believe in any Gods anymore...she only believed in herself.

"Nothing," she said.

The girl seemed confused.

"Nothing?"

Dany nodded.

The girl thought for a moment, her face wound up in confusion.

"Oh," she said.

The girl wandered off to sit on a bench near a small trickling stream, and Dany could tell she was thinking very hard.

It was only the two of them , finally having a moment alone. The Unsullied stood near the entrance, where they could still hear and see her, but they would never talk of what she and Jon did, of that she knew.

Daenerys turned hesitantly to Jon, and he was looking at her with a very soft look on his face.

"What?" she asked.

He smiled gently, stretched out his hand to her. She took it bravely. They were, after all, alone now, and neither thought the girl would care or notice, deep in thought as she was.

He led the to beneath the Weirwood tree, and the face stared at her eerily, like it saw every part of her. She wanted to hide.

"It's alright, it may have a mouth but it won't bite," said Jon with a chuckle.

Daenerys composed herself, and looked away from the eyes.

The trunk was pure white, and the red canopy of leaves basked the two of them in a warm glow.

She looked back at his face.

"What?" she said softly again.

"Will you...just sit with me here for a bit?"

And he sait down at the roots of the old tree. When she hesitated, he patted the ground next to him, and she joined him.

Jon did not say anything, and Dany did not dare break the silence. It was...very peaceful under the tree. After a while she leaned on him, laying her head on his shoulder, which was covered in soft furs. He leaned his cheek against her head.

They sat like that for a long while.

"It's peaceful here," said Dany, finally breaking the silence.

"Yeah," said Jon. "I don't know that I follow any gods anymore but...it just reminds me of home."

Daenerys understood that.

She thought back to the red door and her lemon tree.

Would she ever find such a place again? A place she could call home?

She snuggled closer to him.

 _I am home,_ said a voice in her head.

She inhaled deeply and smiled.

"I never had a home," she said quietly. "Not really. We were always on the run...from one place to the next. Robert's assassin's were always hunting us."

Jon was silent for a long moment.

"I'm sorry for what my family did to yours," he said gently after a long moment.

Dany was silent.

"It's not your fault," she said. "And I wouldn't ask you to. Your family was in the right. My father _was_ mad. He had to be stopped. But..."

"But it should never have harmed _you_ ," Jon finished. There was a moment of silence.

"...yes," she said softly. "But it brought me here...it brought me to you."

He wrapped an arm around her, and she cuddled in close.

"Yes," he said.

As long as she was with him, she was home.

They snuggled deeper together, and somewhere in the distance, a raven cawed.

 **A/N:** _thanks so much for reading! please REVIEW and let me know what you think! I LOVE hearing from you...you don't know how many times I refresh my legacy story stats hoping to see my review count go up so I can hear more from you! I love you all so much! ^.^_

 _Also, my brain is burnt from all the time I've spent on the Wikia trying to learn everything I can about the Targareyns, maps, house's histories...trying to surmise enough about the Manderlys and figuring out where each one was...was quite the headache. They're actually considered the most loyal house to the Starks, and I believe Wyman Manderly has been featured in the show several times...and his second son was slain at the Red Wedding next to Rob, although his first son and heir is still alive, and (I assumed) would not want to wait at White Harbor to be in charge of the city while his father went off to war against the White Walkers, so I put him in Winterfell, (where his father was last seen in the show)_

 _Mandarly's sigil is a merman with a trident, and also the guards and armies fight with tridents, not spears, which is cool AF. White Harbor is also home to the best silversmiths in Westeros, so I thought it would be cool to add that in and give Dany one, considering the whole Jon/Dany #silverwedding seems to be a growing thing, and I really like the aesthetic idea of it, lol...so obvs. they're gonna need a silversmith for...reasons..._

 _Plus how great would it be for Daenerys to have a silver crown? In every season, she's had a major piece of jewelry, (my favorite being the dragon necklace from s6), and if she doesn't have a crown in s8 then..._

 _:(_


	7. and Men

**JON**

The second half of their tour was of the city, where they both had a chance to interact with the actual people they were ruling. They had started at the gates and made their way down the high road. They went to the baking district, the fishing district, the silver district. Everywhere they went they encountered someone new, who seemed flabergasted to meet both the King in the North and the Dragon Queen at the same time. Some were instantly fawning over her, some gave her mistrustful glares and kept their distance...some were bold enough to yell as they passed, and the unsullied would grow tighter around them when that happened, but would loosen again at the Queen's Order, as she smiled and sat and had a conversation with them, love or hate, about their day-to-day lives, and by the end there was not a one that was not in love with her.

Jon was the worst offender of that crime, as the longer the day grew, the more he fell, and every person that fell in love with their new Queen he fell in love with her just a bit more, too.

The impact was noticable, from when they would first walk down the street to when they left it.

Jon noticed that they didn't visit the poorer areas of town...and he was grateful that had not made it into the tour, as he loathed to think what might happen when, dressed as richly as they were and as beautiful as she was, they met the beggars and thieves and the desperate. Fifteen Unsullied might not be enough to protect her then.

Finally the market district, where rich and poor mingled alike, and where they met Missandei and the five unsullied that guarded her, and her guards melded with the queen's and they became a force of twenty.

Missandei greeted them warmly.

"I've purchased some silks for you, your Grace, as well as wools and furs, and fine leather. We will need them the further north we travel. I've also had some new boots ordered for our company...I was just about to go pick them up now."

"We will join you," said Daenerys.

The two woman walked ahead of Jon on the street, as he gave them some space. It was as he fell back that he found Jorah Mormont at his side, who had made his way from the ship to their company.

The two greeted each other amicably, and Jon chatted with him about their respective days as they walked.

He watched Daenerys as they talked, and he noticed Jorah did, too, although while Jon's face was soft, Jorah's face was withdrawn and sad, face heavy with wrinkles.

"She deserves you, you know," said Jorah after awhile, watching the two woman giggle and chat ahead of them. "She deserves to be happy. And she is...she has grown light and carefree these past few months...it makes a nice change."

Jorah's face was hard and sad as he admitted it.

"I'm sorry about..." he trailed off. What could he apologize for? It's not like if it weren't for him she'd be with Jorah, she wouldn't, but...it didn't stop Jon's insides from squirming with guilt. Just a little bit.

"Never apologize for making the her smile like _that,_ Snow," said Mormont, gesturing to her. It was true. Her laugh was light and carefree, and her smile lit up the world.

"She is-" began Jorah.

He stopped.

The hairs on the back of Jon's neck stood up.

Something was wrong.

Suddenly, there was a clatter of steel behind them, yells, screams, and Jon looked up to see a rush of rough leather and the flash of steel. The Unsullied shouted, and rushed, but they were too late...

 _"KHALEESI!"_ he heard Mormont shout, felt both their bodies move. Jon got there first.

Jon jumped forward, using his body as a shield, throwing himself over Daenerys and they hit the ground, hard, and another body slammed into them, and Jon felt a sharp jab in his left shoulder and he felt something heavy throw themselves at them, hitting him, scrambling to get past his body...saw the flash of steel and heard the slice of steel meeting flesh...and Jon bowed himself over his Queen, shielding her from attacks but taking every punch and kick himself... the man was screaming in his ear...but he could not fight, for if he did, he would leave her open to attack...there was another great pain in his arm and back, and a pressure in his shoulder, and there was blood...blood everywhere...

And then as suddenly as it had happened it stopped.

He heard screaming, felt the kicking, punching, stabbing weight lifted off of him, roughly, heard the tinkle of a knife flying, hitting stone...and he met Daenerys' eyes under him, which were wide with fear. He saw them flicker to his left shoulder and arm, saw her face flood with concern...his heart pounded with the adrenaline. He looked to see the bloodied mess through the ripped leather...and he winced as pain rushed in. He had felt this pain before, had been stabbed in much worse places, this was nothing in comparison to a knife to the heart.

Someone helped him up, and Missandei grasped the Queen and held her close to her...The Unsullied surrounded them, half facing in, spears pointed at the man, one had helped Jon up and was now holding him steady...and the rest shielded them, spears and shields outward, forming a solid barrier that the crowd could not penetrate...he saw them screaming but did not hear...only heard the pounding in his ears, clapping a hand over his shoulder.

Jorah held the would-be assassin but the scruff of his neck, sword at his throat.

Jon's left arm and shoulder began to throb, and the sight before him faded, but the Unsullied held him strong.

The man who would have killed Jon's beloved looked pitiful. Dirty, smelly. Covered in fleas, stinking of ale and piss, and very thin. Desperate. Jon felt anger and pity all at once.

Daenerys was staring at Jorah wide-eyed.

"Say the word, _Khaleesi,_ and this man dies here and now as he would have done to you," said Jorah, voice filled with anger and hate.

"Wait..." said Daenerys. She steped closer. Jon bared his sword, his left shoulder aching, but his sword arm was still...useable. The pain had not fully set in yet.

"My Queen-" started Missandei, reaching for her, but Daenerys ignored her.

"What is your name?"

He spat at the ground before her. Though he had not recieved injury to his mouth, he spat blood.

Jon drew his blade fully. The unsullied next to him pointed his spear directly at the man's heart. Jorah pressed his sword into the man's neck so hard that a thin line of red droplets appeared in the skin.

Daenerys drew herself up to her full height. Fire blazed in her eyes.

"Fine...you do not wish to say your name. Then tell us this at least-why did you try to kill me?"

"You're a foreign _witch,"_ the man spat, bloody spittle flying. "You fucking whore...-You Dothraki _slut-_ you-"

Jorah pressed his sword. the man stiffened, trying to pull his neck away from the sharp blade. He finally looked rightly terrified.

"Not another word, friend," he said warningly. "Or you'll lose your tongue."

Jon was glad, then, for Jorah, or he would have killed the man had he uttered one more insult.

Dany sighed. She exchanged a look with Jorah.

"They always speak these insults as if they were the first one to think them," she said, disinterested. She turned to the man. "I have been called all you say and worse."

The man snarled.

"Are you acting alone? Did someone hire you?" questioned Jorah.

The man pursed his lips.

Jorah pressed his blade.

"Alright, alright. My name's Mud. And I'd be a hero if I killed you! All the world would sing my name! Mud-the Dragon Slayer! The Queen would have payed all the gold in Cragrely-Crastory- _whatsit-_ Rock-for _your_ head. And I would have enough gold to make it through _twenty_ winters! Enough food for my family! Enough for us all to survive!"

His eyes lit up with hope.

Jon felt a twinge of pity.

"You poor fool," said Missandei.

"Where is your family?"

"In Black Water's End...they's sick, they is...they..." the man's eyes grew wide with anger. "Don't you touch them! Do you even go near them! You foreign Witch! You bewitched our King-You can't fool me! I've heard what you are! What you've done to the King in the North!"

Daenerys bristled. She pointed at Jon.

"Do you mean your King who stands there before you? The King who risked his life to save mine from your pitiful blade? Your King there-who stands injured, bleeding, because of you?"

The man looked at Jon. He went ghostly white.

"Your-your Lordship, I-I-"

"That's _Your Grace,_ " corrected Daenerys angrily. He could insult her all he wanted, it seemed, but injuring Jon seemed to have hit a raw nerve in her. "You would do well to remember that before I _show you_ what _I_ am truly capable of."

There was a roar from the sky, and suddenly Drogon was there as if by magic. He flew so low to them he gusted them with his hot air and breath, and the roaring rang in Jon's ears long after he had disappeared into the gray clouds again.

The man was trembling now, completely and utterly terrified.

"I-I-Sorry-s-s-sorry...oh g-gods save m-me p-p-pl-please- _please_ y-your G-Grace."

He had pissed himself.

Daenerys looked down at him, disgusted.

"You are pathetic. _Drab Worm!"_ called Daenerys, and the Unsullied next to Jon came to attention.

"Yes, My Queen!" he said.

"Find this man's family. Bring them to me here," she turned to the man. "What's your name? Mud? And you said they live in Black Water's End? A wife and children? How many?"

The man spit blood at her again. She easily sidestepped it. The only blood that had touched her was Jon's.

"Well, doesn't matter. Should be easy enough to find."

"Yes, my Queen," said the Unsullied. "At once."

He bowed and hurried off.

"Ash Ant-Grey Mule," said Daenerys once he was gone. "Scan the streets around us. Be sure this filth acted alone."

"Yes, my Queen," and two of the other Unsullied came to attention, bowed to her, and left to scout. A third took Drab Worm's place inside the circle, pointing his spear at the would-be assassain's heart. The rest of the Unsullied tightened around them to close the missing gaps, alert as ever, shields up and spears out to protect their queen, and the others inside the circle.

There were a few long, tense moments before Dany turned to Jon.

"Are you hurt, _ñuha se zolka prūmia?_ " said Daenerys. Jon didn't realize she was addressing him until she touched his uninjuried shoulder. He looked at her face-it was flooded with restrained concern. She appeared calm, but he could tell that inside she was screaming.

His fingers throbbed.

"I've had worse," he muttered.

"I know," she said. "But it does not make it hurt less."

She examined his wounds, which were bleeding, but not heavily.

"It is deep," she said. "It will fester if not given proper attention. When we are done here, I will have you attended to."

Jon nodded.

They looked into each other's eyes. He saw the fire raging beneath them, barely contained.

"I'm alright," he told her softly.

She nodded shakily.

She turned to the man, and fire raged in her eyes. He began to tremble once again.

And they waited.

First to return were the two scouts.

"Nothing, my Queen, except fear and uncertainty. Many have fled. The City Guards are on their way."

"When they arrive, have them guard the streets. Do not let them in the circle. This is a matter for me to handle."

"Yes, my Queen."

"Is that wise?" asked Jorah. "It would be preferable to throw him in a cell, or slit his throat here and now and be done with it. None would blame you for it."

"I said, it is _my_ business to handle, Ser Jorah, _not_ the city guard's, nor the Ladies of the castle."

Jorah lowered his eyes.

"Yes, _Khaleesi."_

Some time later, Drab Worm returned with a woman and three young children in tow, one of whom was nothing more than a suckling babe at her breast. They brought them in the circle and closed around them.

"Mud-Gods, what have you done?" whispered the woman.

He did not answer, only hung his head in shame.

She turned to the Daenerys, looked her up and down.

"You're the Dragon Queen," she said. Daenerys nodded. "Oh, Gods, please, he's an idiot, truly, I don't know what he's done, but-"

"He made an attempt on my life," said Daenerys. "And has injuried the King in the North-King Snow."

The woman looked at Jon, eyes wide with fear.

"Oh, Gods, I'm sorry, I'm sorry for whatever he's done...spare him, please...he's useless, for the most part, but without him we'll die when Winter comes in true..."

The woman turned to her husband. She bristled.

"Shame on you! Drinking at the pub again, were you? And other things...I should let her burn you to a crisp, I should. Trying to kill the Queen! Gods, what _were_ you thinking? -No, I don't want to hear it. You're an idiot. Probably let Crispin put grand, fancy notions in your head again, did you? Had one too many pints, heard the Queen was in town and thought you'd be a hero? You're a fool. How will we survive Winter if you end up dead, you idiot? Did you even think of your children?"

The man did not lift his head, though his shoulders were shaking.

The woman turned to Khaleesi again.

"Gods be good, I apologize, my lady, truly. He is a fool. I never should have married 'im. Useless, idiot man. I swear, if Winter doesn't kill us, his foolishness will be the death of us all..."

Daenerys softened.

"He truly didn't mean no harm by it, honest. He's desperate, is all. Winter is coming, and we haven't enough food...nor enough gold...and he's useless for the most part but he does have a deft hand at fishing...but it won't matter once the river freezes..."

"Peace, woman," said Daenerys gently.

She turned to the man.

"If I had been anyone else, if I had been Cersei, you would have lost your head the moment you injured my beloved."

Jon looked at her in shock. They were supposed to be keeping it a secret. But he supposed it didn't really matter here either way.

"But instead I have brought your wife here to you, to see you for what you are, and for you to feel the consequences of your actions. Your three children stand before you. They would have been left alone in the world because of what you did. They would have starved and died when Winter came because of you. They would be naught but skeletons if summer comes again. Is that what you wanted?"

The man stared at his children, tears streaming down his face. His eyes locked with the younger boy, who could have been no more than six, and was wailing.

"Oh, Gods, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

Dany nodded at Jorah, who reluctantly released him. He immediately fell to his knees, and his crying son rushed into his arms.

Daenerys turned to Jorah.

"Escort them back to their home. Make sure the children are safe and comfortable. Clean the man up and make sure he is fit again to be around his wife and children again. Be sure they have enough food, and silver to spare, so that they might have a chance when Winter comes in full."

The woman stared, mouth and eyes open wide.

"But-my Queen-I-he-" she fell silent, and tears streamed down her face. She fell silent. "Thank you."

She fell to her knees, bowing her head.

Daenerys placed a gentle hand to the woman's chin and looked in her eyes.

"Thank me by surviving," she said softly. "Thank me by making sure your children are fed and happy, so that the Long Night never touches them."

Tears fell down the woman's eyes.

"I will, my Queen," she said. " _Thank you."_

Jorah, eyes soft looking at Daenerys, nodded silently.

Daenerys turned to the man, who raised his head but did not let go of his son.

"And you, never shame your wife and children again. Feed them, care for them. Never leave them. Family is the only thing worthwhile in this world. Take care of it, lest you loose it forever."

The man nodded, beyond words.

Dany gave a command in High Valryian, and the Unsullied parted, reforming ranks behind them. She nodded to Jorah, who took the little family away.

Jon stared at her, eyes soft. She sensed him staring and looked at him.

"Nobody else in the world would have done what you just did," he said softly. She looked somewhat sheepish.

"I merely-"

"No," said Jon. " _Nobody_ _else in the world would have done what you just did._ Not even me."

She did not respond, avoided his eyes. She looked at his wounds.

"Let's get you back to the ship."

 **A/N:** _I am SO sorry for not updating yesterday. I think I needed a day xD. Anyway, here's the new chapter. This was one of my strongest ideas when y'all said I should continue-an attack on Dany's life and Jon protecting her with his own body. And then Dany being the beautiful compassionate soul she is :) I was torn between having her burn him alive, or doing this...and the former creating a lot of hatred for Dany in the city and the north...but I liked this way better. The common folk know nothing about her other than hating her because propaganda from Cersei, but I like her showing them that she's different, and not more of the same. I also had her pull a Margarey-going out and about with the common folk and making them love her. And word will spread, and I'm sure she had that in the back of her mind, but when has Daenerys not genuinely cared about people? She freed all the slaves, for goodness sake. She is a precious little cinammon roll that just loves and cares about people from all walks of life and wants everyone to be OK_

 _Anyway, please REVIEW! and let me know what YOU think of the chapter! Love all of you :)_

 _Also, I'm curious if you would rather I post every day like I've been doing, or every other day like I did with this chapter, so as to space it out and have it last longer-it's a long way to go till the next season yet. Let me know :)_


	8. A Lion Still Has Claws

**JAIME**

The horse's hoofs clopped under him at a trot-the sound a muffly echo in parting between the tall trees on the Kingsroad.

The often-traveled path was silent and dead, a hushed silence, which was strange, as there were normally at least a few people traveling back and forth. But, Jaime supposed, with Winter here, everyone was settling down where they were. The ground had frosted over that morning, and no birds but crows uttered a single cry.

Ahead of him and behind, the ground had been trampled. There were the straight, even line of bootprints from the Unsullied, who had marched far ahead of him in the same direction towards Winterfell. Around that, there was an even wider swath of pure chaos. The Dothraki hoarde, who had rode far ahead of the Unsullied, had left nothing but destruction and trampled grass in their wake with their wild horses. And in the silence that followed the two armies there was only him.

It had been just over a week since he'd left Cersei.

His heart still ached.

He knew he'd done the right thing...knew he'd sworn an oath-and this time he was determined not to break it. But it didn't make it hurt any less. He had also been loyal to _her._ Sworn an Oath, there, too, to never leave her...he still loved her. Would always love her...but...

 _Fuck Loyalty._

Had it been Brienne that had changed his mind? Or had it been Cersei herself-Cersei, who grew more and more in her madness everyday?

 _Are you going to kill_ me _?_

He'd thought, for half a second of terror, that she hadn't been bluffing.

He tried to think back to the exact moment he'd lost her forever...was it when Tommen had died? Had it been when she'd blown up the Sept? When she'd walked naked down the strret and hadn't been there to protect here? The moment the crown was placed on her head? Or had it been...

 _Never betray me again,_ she had whispered in his ear.

 _Burn them all._

The voice had echoed in his head when she'd said that, loud and clear, clearer than even Cersei's voice.

He shivered. Was it the cold?

Or had been even before that...

No, he knew. He knew the exact moment he'd lost her. He knew.

It had been the moment he'd brought back their beautiful, sweet, innocent daughter in a golden shroud. Her short hair, her devastated face...his heart had broken all over again after seeing his sister collapse into a husk of pain...

 _I'm glad you're my father._

Blood...blood...there had been so much blood...or so it seemed, distorted by his memory...

 _Their only daughter..._

"Just where the fuck do you think you're going," said a voice behind him.

Jaime startled and turned, ripped from his thoughts.

Ser Bronn of the Blackwater rode astride a black horse, trotting to catch up with him and reaching his side.

"Winterfell," he muttered, annoyed.

"What, all by yourself?"

Jaime didn't answer.

"Aye, all by yourself. Jaime Fucking Lannister, the lone hero against the World. Perhaps Cersei could have paintings made- _Ser Jaime vs the Dragon,_ and _Ser Jaime vs the Dead._ Too bad they'll only ever be a twin set. But what a pair."

 _What the fuck,_ he thought. Jaime gave him a look. Had that last part been a mockery as well? _A twin set?_

"Fuck off," muttered Jaime angrily.

"Oh, no. I told you," said Bronn, "No one's allowed to kill you until I get my fuckin' castle."

"Go ask Cersei for your fucking castle. She's more means to give it to you than I do."

"Funnily enough, I don't think she'd be willing to oblige."

Jaime narrowed his eyes.

"Besides, my price has gone up."

"Oh, has it now?"

"Aye."

Bronn didn't continue. Jaime waited. He gave the man an impatient look. Was he really going to make him ask?

" _And?"_

"I still want a castle..." he started. "But on an island."

Jaime laughed, loud and hard. It echoed eerily in the silence of the trees.

"Oh, fuck off, Bronn," he said humorously.

"I'm serious, mate. A fucking island. Picture it...Lord Bronn of so-and-so Island. I could have ships...go fishing...and come back to the castle to half a dozen ladies and a beautiful wife..."

Jaime shook his head in amusement.

"Perhaps instead you should become Court Jester, with jokes like that."

"Fuck off," he quipped right back. "Besides, I'll need an island to escape to, should this whole fucking thing go south." Bronn chuckled. "Literally."

Jaime furrowed his brows.

"Oh, wipe that look off your face sunshine, it's not that surprising. What fun would the world be if it was populated with dead people instead of living flesh and blood? I tell you, rotting tits would be no fun at all. They're all fat. They'd be the first to rot off. What's a world without tits?"

Jaime looked at him.

"What are you talking about? What are you even doing here?" said Jaime. He was finished with this nonsense. He wanted Bronn to leave him the fuck alone.

"I'm helping," said Bronn seriously.

"Oh, fuck off,"

"No, really," he said. "Perhaps there is a shred of sentiment left in this black heart of mine after all, but I really don't want to see the world end."

Jaime stopped his horse. He looked at Bronn seriously.

"You really want to fight the White Walkers? _Dragons_ were on your no-go list, and now you want to fight the _dead?_ "

"Aye," said Bronn. "Maybe they can add me into those paintings of yours. After all, I'm constantly saving your ass."

Jaime stared. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

"See for yourself," he said, and gestured behind them.

They had reached a rise in the land, not very tall, but there was enough height for them to see for a few miles behind them.

And there, on the Kingsroad, marched a host of some 2,000 men, wearing Lannister colors, fully armed. What little remained of their war-torn little force marched behind them, heading for Winterfell. He looked at Bronn.

"How?" he said.

"Turns out," said Bronn. "Some of them aren't so keen on the idea of waiting around in Kings Landing for either the White Walkers to freeze them out, or the Dragon Queen to roast them out. Turns out some of them...quite a bit of them, would rather take their chances up North with the rest of the armies, before the White Walkers march south of the Wall, and kill their families...not all of which live in the capital, of them live between King's Landing and the Wall. Seems putting their families between them and danger was not a smart move on Cersei's part."

"Cersei...she'll...she'll see this as a betrayal... stealing her army...she'll...she;ll come after us..."

Bronn grinned, big and wide.

"Her and what army?"

Jaime pulled up his horse to better face Bronn. An angry look had crossed his face.

"Euron Greyjoy is not returning to the Iron Islands, he's sailing for Essos on Cersei's orders to bring back the Golden Company. _That's_ her army. She means to either use them to defend King's Landing against the White Walkers or against Daenerys, whoever is left standing after The Great War."

Bronn pulled up short. He looked behind him at the bedraggled army, his face pulling an _oh-shit_ look.

"Well," he said, "Let's hope the Dragon Queen is grateful for our assistance."

"I suppose that's our only course of action now," said Jaime, using a sarcastic voice, but he knew he was right. If they marched back now, Cersei would still see it as a betrayal, and...he didn't even know. Probably-

 _Burn them all._

He shook the voice out of his head.

"Fucking hell, Bronn," said Jaime irritably.

"Well," said Bronn. "Look on the bright side...at least you'll be on the same side as your brother."

"Against my sister."

"Well, it's never easy to pick a side when family fights."

"Fuck me," said Jaime.

Bronn laughed.

"Not anymore, she won't," he said, laughing, and he rode ahead quickly before Jaime could smack him with his golden hand.

 **A/n:** _I know, short chapter, and no Jonerys, but there's a lot going on with other people too. YOU MUST THINK LIKE GRRM. Besides, Jaime riding off by himself to fight the White Walkers was just too sad, and my one question at the end of that scene was WHERE THE FUCK IS BRONN? Like Bronn would throw in with fucking Cersei LOL no, of course he'd go after and rescue Jaime's dumb ass. Also, he needed an army. Everyone needs an army. (and YOU get an army, and YOU get an army! and YOU...you get the idea)_


	9. Words and Dreams

**JON**

 _His dreams were hazy, frightening. He was running..ice fell around him. Not snow, ice. Sharp and pointed, like the spear that had killed Viserion. He dodged his head, trying to protect himself from their heavy impact...they were big chunks now...he stood alone...and they fell from the sky...massive ice boulders the size of small houses...he covered his head...he tried to run but his legs were frozen...he heard screaming...screams all around him..._

 _He was flying now, and it was cold...cold...cold...so cold...icy arms around him...before him stood the wall...solid and strong...solid and strong..._

 _it won't fall, it won't fall, it won't fall..._

 _but Jon was scared..._

 _He felt fire flowed from him. Fire all around him. Heat, blessed heat, but he was so cold it burned, burned, burned. Poison to his skin._

 _Every nerve became alight with pain. The fire shot from him, and hit the wall...it seemed so fragile now..._

 _He saw it fall...saw it melt...saw...oh gods, no, no, no..._

 _It won't fall, it won't fall, it won't fall..._

 _Ice rained around him...but he was on fire...his shoulder was on fire...he burned, burned, burned..._

 _He turned, and behind him on the dragon he saw him..._

 _Icy blue eyes met his._

Jon woke with a hard, sharp intake of breath.

He couldn't breathe.

 _The wall, the wall...the wall..._

He sat up quickly, woozy. Pain erupted in his shoulder. His head was foggy and dizzy and...spinny...and...

He fell...aimed for the bed but missed...and landed hard on the floor.

He groaned.

"Jon?!" he heard her voice as if from a long distance away...

Her warm arms encircled him. He shivered. _Cold arms around him...cold like ice...the Night King..._

 _The wall...the wall...the wall..._

She lifted him, struggling with his weight, placed him back on the bed.

"Jon?"

He heard her voice as though it was a long way away...

"They gave you Milk of the Poppy, remember? They said it would help you sleep..."

His shoulder was on fire...

But he was cold...cold...so cold...

He felt a warm hand touch his forehead.

"You're burning up..."

He felt cool lips pressed to his cheek, and she was gone...gone...gone...

 _"Don't leave me,"_ he croaked out...or he thought he did...

His head was swimming...

He shivered. Ice...ice everywhere...

 _He swam in it, drowning...he couldn't breathe...he kicked upward, trying to find the hole he'd fallen in...but only solid ice met his searching hands...he panicked...beat at the ice...but he was slow, he couldn't move his arms...couldn't kick his legs fast enough...drowning, drowning, drowning...he was cold, cold, so cold..._

 _The ice grew hot, oddly hot, beneath his fingers. It began to glow orange. Fire. Fire. He was on fire. It engulfed him. He chocked, not on icy water but on hot smoke. He coughed, coughed up blood...heard the roar of a dragon...was it Drogon? No, Rhaegal. Somehow he knew..._

 _He saw his teeth gnashing, saw green scales flash, felt the fire surround him. He was burning...the skin was melting off his flesh..._

 _Or was it? No...the skin melting off his flesh was just sweat, and the heat surrounding him...was it his own fire or Rhagael's...?_

 _A giant bronze eye met his own...and he knew him...was one with him...felt his fire..._

 _But then he moved aside...and on him rode a man...tall...strong...handsome. He wore black armor veined with red and covered in scales. Silver-white hair flowed down his back in waves_. _His eyes were indigo and they burned into his own. Jon stretched out his hand to him...trying to reach him...he thought he knew him...he felt familiar..._

 _"Aegon..." he heard voices around him whisper. Saw the man's mouth move._

 _"Aegon..."_

 _...a thousand tiny dragons spilt from the man's jaws and quickly grew to the size of suns..._

"He's a fever..." he heard voices say. "He was peacefully sleeping, and then he woke and..."

He felt an old man's papery touch. Heard the clinking of a Maester's chain.

 _"...Aegon..."_

 _The voice demanded his attention, but he fought to remain conscious...Daenerys...Daenerys...he had to stay with Daenerys..._

"Not to worry, my dear, not to worry...the medicine is doing it's work, is all. It's to be expected...perhaps more Milk of the Poppy will help him sleep better...

 _No, no, no...he didn't want to sleep...he had to get to the wall..._

Perhaps he was mumbling, heard her shushing him...felt her weight besides him, felt the brush of her silver hair... _silver hair..._

His eyes met her violet ones...she reminded him of someone...someone he never knew...

"It's alright, my love," she whispered. "Here, drink this."

He resisted but she held firm.

"Please, Jon...please, my _ñuha zolka prūmia._ "

 _Her eyes turned indigo..._

"Jon," she pleaded. She pressed the cup to his lips and he reluctantly drank.

He fell back onto the pillows. She brushed sweaty hair off his forehead.

"What does that mean," he felt himself whisper.

Her eyes met his.

" _Wolf of my Heart,"_ she murmured, and he fell into a deep and, this time dreamless, sleep.

When he woke again, it was peacefully, his head clear. He had a recollection that he'd had such strange, violent dreams, but he could not remember...

He lay on his stomach, back open to the air. His shoulder ached but it was no longer on fire. Beside him, she slept, face pressed against his right, uninjuired, arm, hand resting on the small on his back. He took a deep breath. The air was cool and refreshing. The sheets smelled like sickness and sweat and old blood, but they were soft, and he pressed his face deeper into them.

He stretched his muscles best he could without moving too much. He was achey all over. The skin on his back crackled and he recoiled. Soft bandages soaked in something that smelled strange were placed over his wound. He wanted to peel them off but resisted the urge, knowing they were there for a reason.

 _How long had he been asleep?_

The room was lit with a soft gray light, and through the window he could see that it was dull and gray and cloudy once again. It was snowing. He saw land outside the window of the ship. They must have left the city, moving swiftly down the White Knife towards Winterfell. It must have been at least a day.

He wanted to ask Daenerys, but she was fast asleep and he didn't want to disturb her. His muscles were aching, though, and he wanted to move around. Gently, he shimmied out from under her, and carefully tried to sit up.

Despite his best efforts, she stirred.

She woke up quickly, and met his eyes.

"You're awake!" she said, sitting up, immediately fussing. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," he said. She touched his forehead.

"Your fever's broken," she said, smiling gently. "Good. I was worried for a while there..."

"I'm alright," he said softly. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Couple days," she said. "We've left the city and are moving up the river. The Manderlys were kind enough to lend us their Maester to help heal you, and we will send him back down the river when you're better. We really must send for our own from the Citadel."

"I've got the perfect person in mind," said Jon.

"Who?" she asked.

"Samwell Tarly," he said proudly. "He's...well, was, my Brother of the Night's Watch. He asked me to send him to the Citadel so that he could be Castle Black's new Maester, and I did. I'm sure he's done marvelously. Bet he's giving all those dusty old men a run for their money. He's so smart. I would be dead a hundred times over without him. He's probably learned quite a bit by now."

Dany smiled at him.

"I'm sure he'll make a wonderful Maester," she said. "But doesn't his vow to the Night's Watch require him to stay with the Night's Watch?"

"Does it really matter anymore?" said Jon softly. "We're all brothers of the Night's Watch now. ' _I am the shield that guards the realms of men_.' Isn't that what we're all doing?"

There was silence for a moment. There was no need to answer his question.

"How did you leave the Night's Watch? It's my understanding that it's for life," she asked softly. He had known this question was coming for sometime now. He'd known the question burned at her. Her fingers had traced the scars over his heart so many times he'd lost count, but the question never left her lips. "Ser Davos said you took a knife in the heart for your people. You were Lord Commander. I've seen the scars, you can't deny it. Don't you think it's time you tell me?" 

Jon looked away from her.

He had known he would have to at some point, but doing so meant admiting his mistake...though he had done the right thing, and he would stand by and make the decision again and again even if it meant the same outcome. Was that what he was ashamed of? Ser Alliser's snear still burned in his eyes...but it was Olly's betrayal that had hurt the most...

"The dead were coming," he said. "I knew it, everybody knew it. There were thousands of Wildlings beyond the Wall, and if the dead had got to them, they would have been more fodder for his army...so I made a decision. An unpopular decision. I let the Wildlings past the wall and into the south. Not that it mattered...we only got a fraction of them out...a few thousand...the dead came anyway, and we fought them at Hardhome but it wasn't enough...we lost so many of the Free Folk to the army of the dead...

"But that doesn't matter. I still let the ones we saved beyond the wall, and...certain men who would've rather I'd not made it back from Hardhome led a mutiny. They betrayed me. Stabbed me."

 _Traitor,_ the sign had said.

 _For the Watch, for the watch, for the watch..._

It echoed in his ears.

He pointed to his scars.

"Here," he pointed to the first one. _Alliser Thorne._ "Here," _Bowen Marsh._ "Here," _Othell Yarwyck._ "Here and here," he couldn't remember their names...couldn't remember their faces...he'd been in such pain at that point..."And...here," he pointed to the one over his heart. _Olly._

 _For the Watch._

"I died," he finished softly. "I know you're going to ask what was after that...but there was just..." he paused. "Nothing. There was just...nothing."

"Like sleeping?" she said.

"No," he said hoarsely. "Nothing."

"Then how is it you sit before me? How is it you are not rotting in the ground?"

"The Red Witch brought me back," he said. "As Thoros of Meer brought back Beric Dondarrian six times. 'The Lord of Light' they credit but who know sif that's true or not..."

"I know of whom you speak. Melisandre. She is the one who encouraged me to send for you in Dragonstone. For me to hear the things that have happened to you."

Jon's eyes widened in surprise.

"And I suppose you have now, finally, in full," she said gently. Jon nodded.

"I hung them all as the traitors they were, and left the Night's Watch. I had died. My watch was ended. Nobody dared fight me on it. I was free to go south with my sister and retake Winterfell from the Boltons, and the Northern Lords promptly named me King in the North...and, well, you know the rest, I suppose."

She nodded. Was silent. Touched his scars gently, hesitantly. He looked into her eyes.

"I'm sorry they did that to you, Jon," she said softly. "I'm sorry they betrayed you and hurt you."

Jon closed his eyes.

"Me too," he said gently.

She kissed him softly. It felt like it'd been ages since he'd felt her lips touch his. They gently broke apart and looked into each other's eyes. He toyed with a long, loose blonde curl that lay near her waist. She drew a finger over the scar on his heart. Then she leaned down, and kissed it softly. He felt his heart melt. She traced the thick, ugly scar with her lips, gently kissing. He sighed, feeling himself relax. She pushed him to lay back, and he did, carefully placing his shoulder on the pillows so as not to disturb the bandages there. He closed his eyes, and enjoyed her kisses.

When she had finished with the one over his heart she began on the others, as if by kissing it she could burn the pain of that memory away with her love.

 _"ñuha zolka prūmia,"_ she whispered into his skin when she'd finished, returning to the skin over his heart and kissing hard, inhaling his scent.

"You called me that before," he said gently. "What is it? You said it means..."

" _Wolf of my Heart,"_ she said softly. "In HIgh Valyrian."

"How did you come to speak it?" he asked, curious. High Valyrian was not a common language in Westeros.

"It is my mother tongue," she said. "My brother taught me, as our mother and father taught him, and their mother and father them, and so on all the way back to Aegon the Conqueror and long before that, to Old Valryia."

"Arya can speak a little, I think," said Jon, "she was the only one of us curious about it though. I never learned much besides the greetings- _Valar morghūlis._ "

" _Valar dohaeris,"_ she said in response. " _All men must die_ , and the response-all men must _serve_."

"Will you teach me? Just a bit," he asked. He wanted to feel closer to her. He knew, if he could muster a few phrases, then perhaps he could communicate with her in her own language.

Daenerys laughed, amused. "Missandei would be a much better teacher than I. Even I get some phrases wrong some time. I had no formal education in it, only what my brother knew, and he was very young."

"Still," he said.

"Well, _Zolka_ is the word for _wolf_ and _prumia_ means _Heart...'Vala'_ is the word for ' _man'_ while _'Valar'_ means men plural..." and she began to teach him, coaching his through difficult pronounciations and giving him simple words to try. He struggled with the pronounciation and tried not to disappoint her, but the words were difficult.

"Don't be too hard on yourself, my love," she said after he had struggled to retain the gender-neautral pronoun for a royal ' _dārilaros'_ Valeryian is a difficult language, it would take years to learn it properly, and there are sounds spoken that are not used in the common tongue. If you are truly interested, I can speak to Missandei about providing you with lessons."

He thought for a moment, looked at her. She had brightened as she spoke her native tongue, conversing with him in what he could muster. He wanted to see more of that.

"I think I'd like that," he said. She smiled.

"Good, I shall arrange it straight away. But for now, you need to rest. I see my little lesson has already taken it out of you."

It was true, he was exhausted.

"Sleep, _ñuha zolka prūmia,"_ she said, kissing his brow. "I shall stay beside you."

She lay down next to him, and pulled out a book she had been reading. She entagled her foot in his and pressed her body to his side. He smiled. He couldn't sleep. She was too adorable.

He turned on his non-injuried side to watch her. She noticed him staring. Daenerys side-eyed him over the cover of her book.

" _Sleep,"_ she said forcefully. "Do I need to call the Maester?"

Jon sighed.

"No need for threats," he said. He saw her mouth twitch in amusement as she turned a page. He smiled, his eyes grew heavy, and before long he had drifted off to sleep.

 **A/N:** _My High Valeryian sucks. I'm still not entirely sure I translated everything properly. Valeryian's fucking weird and I suck at learning new languages anyway...but I wanted them to have cute little nicknames for each other. So if anyone speaks High Valeyrian and knows the proper translation than please help me I'm so lost. (If one of my lovely readers actually DOES send me a PM I'd have a few other translations I'd like to put to you!)_

 _And it's about goddamn time Jon told Dany that he'd died._

 _Yes, Jon did dream the wall fell. That's all I'm going to say about that._


	10. One Last Night

**DAENERYS**

Dany was dreading Winterfell.

Soon, they would reach the spot where the White Knife would meet the Kingsroad, and they would disembark. From there it was only a short day's ride to Winterfell.

The closer they got, the more Daenerys dreaded it.

Soon their time together, isolated and insulated against the rest of the world, would end as they left their little boat behind. Soon, they would meet the Northern Lords, and Jon's siblings, and the rest of the armies, and after that they would head to the wall and...

Dany didn't want to think about that.

The river had become more and more narrow as they continued, and the surrounding landscapes became a stranger to Daenerys. She had never been in this part of the country, and it was a strange land to her, all scaggly woods and tall trees and icy ground.

It was snowing almost everyday now, and they were lucky that the water had yet to freeze. Daenerys had donned a white and silver fur cloak that was similar to Jon's (But shorter, only brushing the back of her knees) around her shoulders in addition to her white coat to keep the cold from touching her ears and neck. Jon had kept teasing her about her pink ears and cheeks, but she had stubbornly refused to wear more clothing until recently.

"C-cold cannot kill a d-dragon," she had shivered determinedly. He had chuckled at her, and teased her mercilessly, until she supposed he finally couldn't stand it anymore and had draped the cloak around her, and she had become instantly so much warmer that she gave in and hadn't taken it off since.

"Winter is tough, my Queen," said Jon seriously. "You have to do whatever it takes to stay warm, or you'll die. That Includes wearing a cloak."

Daenerys had never seen a Winter, though she had been born at the close of the last one, during Robert's Rebellion. That Winter had been relatively mild, so she'd heard. She had also lived in warm climates her entire life, and cold was not something she was used to at all.

When she had gone to rescue Jon's party from beyond the Wall, Drogon's fire had kept her warm, though the places where his scales did not touch her had been significantly cooler, to the point where she had been shivering at the contrast. She had thought her white coat would have been enough to keep her warm when she'd left Dragonstone, but it was nowhere near enough. She was now begining to understand why Jon would always wear his furs even on a mild day...this was the kind of cold that chilled your bones and would not leave. She longed for a fireplace and a hot meal, and thick stone walls to keep in heat. Jon had told her that Winterfell would be like that. It was designed for Winter. To keep out the cold. To keep it's inhabiants alive.

She was happy she would finally be warm (maybe), but what awaited her there chilled her to the bone as well, and so when it was finally their last night on their little boat, and Jon visited her in her cabin, she spilled all her worries onto him.

He stroked her hair, which was loose, now, and held her.

"Don't worry, my Queen. They will see you for what you are, as I have. They will come to love you. Yes, even my sisters."

That was, oddly enough, the thing Daenerys was most worried about. What if Jon's sisters disliked her so much that they would fail to give their blessing for their eventual union and marriage? It wasn't like they _needed_ it, she was _Queen,_ and he was _King,_ and no one could tell them what not to do, however...she was still worried they would hate her when Jon loved them so much.

Jon looked deep into her eyes.

"They will come to love you, as I have come to love you. And you will love them. Watch and see."

He kissed her forehead.

Dany snuggled in deeper to him. His skin was the only thing warm anymore to her. They were naked together, in bed. It was always the first thing he did when he came to visist in the middle of the night-he would strip his clothes, and hers, crawl beneath the sheets and heavy furs and press his body against hers until they both stopped shivering. Then he would kiss her, soundly, and she would feel heat return to her. Her fire, which had almost been snuffed out in the cold, would reawaken at his touch and rage once again.

He pulled her close. Pressed his forehead to hers.

"Everything will change the moment we step off this boat," she whispered.

He shushed her.

"No. I will still come to you every night. I will still love you. It will not be long then till we will marry, and we won't have to hide anymore."

"What if-" she started.

"No," he said harshly. "No what-if's-"

" _What if,"_ she said more forcefully. "What if we don't survive the war?"

Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

"I won't let that happen," he said fiercely. "We will survive. We will defeat them. And you will sit on the Iron Throne. And this world will change for the better. We will make it so."

"Together?" she asked, looking into his eyes.

"Aye. Together," he answered.

He kissed her, then, strong and deep. And she felt like no threats in the world could tear their promises apart.

Suddenly, she became very needy, pushing into his lips with her tongue, craving him, craving every part of him. She wrapped her arms around him tightly, and he winced as she accidentely pulled at his almost-healed shoulder.

"Sorry," she whispered as he winced slightly, and moved her hands to his waist instead, needing to feel every part of him. He wasn't close enough, _not close enough._

"Daenerys," he murmured, pulling away and pressing a thumb onto her lips. "Relax, my love."

She pulled away, trembling. His eyes softened. He pulled her closer.

"My Queen," he murmured. She softened as he held her tightly. "Do you not believe me?"

"I'm not sure of anything in this world anymore," she said, eyes closed in pain.

His fingers brushed her chin, raised it.

"Look at me," he said softly. She opened her eyes, and her violet ones met his beautiful brown ones. She could get lost in those eyes. They saw straight into her soul. "Be sure of me. Be sure of us. _Trust this."_

She wanted to close her eyes away from his but he shifted his hand on her jaw, and her eyes flicked to his once more.

"Trust us," he begged of her. "Trust _me."_

And she remembered that she did, and her worries faded away in the intensity of his gaze.

"I do," she breathed.

And he kissed her again, but very, very gently, guiding her back to him, a long, slow burn.

She felt his hardness press into her thigh as their kiss deepened, grew more intense, and she parted her legs.

He slid easily between them, and she felt the tip of his cock brush her lips. Instantly her whole body awakened with a shock, and she wrapped her legs around him, inserting him into herself firmly.

He grunted, and she tilted her hips into his pelvis, forcing him deeper.

He kissed her neck and she buried her nose behind his ear, kissing the soft skin there. They began to move, softly and slowly, and she felt herself become wetter and softer with every stroke. She mewed into his ear, and he groaned, slamming himself as deep into her as he could and holding, making her whine with need as he pressed up against her deep ache. Her nails scratched at his back and he moaned deeply again.

He split his legs, so that his balls swung free and he could get better access, and began to pound into her, hard, his soft balls hitting her lips and the very sensitive anus below that, and she felt it tighten in pleasure. She wondered what it would feel like to have his member in _there._

She couldn't breathe at the thought...what stimulation she was getting from what he was doing was enough to give her a rough idea...enough to let her imagination wander, and as she thought about him pounding deep into her there, her anus tightened in response, and made it all the more pleasurable to have him moving in and out of her slick wet hole, and when she came, she felt it pulse deep withing both parts of her, and he was soon to follow, burying himself so deep in her that his balls were pressed up against her, almost inside her...and she felt his seed hit her wall, filling her up totally and completely, and she felt a rush of contentment.

He held her tightly, not wanting to let her go. She kissed up and down the length of his neck and shoulder, holding him tight to her, burying her fingers in his hair. He slid his arms under her, and wrapped them tight around her. She squeezed his length with her walls. He twitched in response.

 _"I love you,"_ she whispered in his ear, _"ñuhi zolka prūmia."_

He pulled back to look in her eyes, brushed a stray blonde wisp from her cheek.

"And I you," he said softly, " _ñuhi zaldrīzes gīs."_

 _Dragon of my Soul._

She melted, utterly and completely, cupped his face, tears springing to her eyes. His lessons with Missandei seemed to be paying off.

"Oh, my King," she whispered, and kissed him firmly.

They made love twice more before falling asleep in each other's arms.

Daenerys was ripped abruptly from sleep with a knock at the door. She looked outside. It was still dark.

 _Who would call on her this late at night, other than Jon?_

She turned to him. He had awoken as well.

"Who is it?" he muttered sleepily. She shook her head, confused. She rose from bed, and felt some of his three loads of seed slip from her and slide down her legs. She blushed, feeling aroused once more, and quickly put on a light robe. She opened the door a hair.

It was Varys, who looked very concerned.

"What-" she started, but he brushed past her, entering the priviacy of their room without invitation, ignoring their nakedness, and closed the door firmly behind him. His eyes flickered onto Jon. He did not seem surprised to see him there.

"It's good you're here as well," he said, voice anxious.

"Varys, this is untoward," she said, angry. "You enter without invitation."

"Forgive me, my Queen. This is urgent."

The Eunuch seemed very nervous. She had never seen the man look so flustered. He began pacing up and down the length of the window as Daenerys sat back down, angry, but tempered. Jon sat up, being careful to cover himself with the bedclothes.

"What is it, Varys?" asked Jon. He seemed much calmer than she felt.

Varys hesitated. Stood still once more. He looked between both of them. Held up a ravenscroll. It was sealed with a black wax seal, and Daenerys spotted the symbol of a crow.

Jon stood up, modesty forgotten, and snatched it out of Varys' hand. He opened it, hands shaking. His mouth fell open. His eyes grew wide, and his breathing quickened. His hand reached out, fumbling for the window seal and support. The scroll fell from his hand and fluttered onto the floor.

"What is it?" she said, suddenly very fearful.

Varys turned to her. The man looked more scared than she'd ever seen him, but the voice that slipped from the spider's tongue was so terrifyingly calm.

"The Wall has fallen."


	11. Dragons in Winterfell

**SANSA**

Sansa paced back and forth.

"How much longer?" she asked.

In the corner sat the Maester, who had patiently answered this question every ten minutes for over an hour. Everytime he answer the same way.

"Not long now."

In between them sat the heavy wooden desk that was littered with scrolls and quills and books and candles and in the very center - the unfurled scroll sealed with the black of the Night's Watch.

She eyed it as she paced in front of it. On her way back she looked out the window, where she could see the gates of Witnerfell and some distance beyond it. She would be able to see them coming and would immediately leave the safety of her office and jump straight into the action.

To say she was nervous about meeting the Dragon Queen was to not tell the full story-she was much more nervous about seeing Jon, and what he would do when he got here. Presumably he'd gotten the same information as her-the wall had fallen.

Her pacing increased.

"You will wear a hole in your pretty shoes, m'lady," said the Maester. Sansa scoffed.

As if she cared half as much about pretty things anymore.

The Maester knew better than to respond.

It was very late afternoon. They should have been here by now.

What would Jon do? Would he take all of their army and leave again? Would he ruin all the hard work she had done to prepare the castle for Winter? And now they would need to prepare for a siege against the dead...if they failed to defeat them in battle...

Sansa didn't know much about warfare or sieges, but she had heard stories. She'd heard about how people would starve to death long before a single arrow was loosed. She'd heard how people would eat the horses and then the dogs and then the rats and then-

She didn't like to think about what people would eat after all of _that_ was gone.

Sansa took a deep breath. Shook the thoughts out of her head. It wouldn't do for her to panic. She had to be strong. People were looking to her to lead.

Her thoughts turned to Arya, who she hadn't seen all day.

She still was somewhat frightened of her. But she knew her sister would never let anyone hurt her, including white walkers and men. _Especially men,_ she thought.

Arya had been sleeping over in her bed for weeks now. It had just happened one night. She had come to speak to Sansa about something, she didn't even remember, but then she stayed, sitting on the bed with Ghost, and the both laid there and they talked, Ghost between them and they would scratch his ears and the words had come pouring out...

Each night they talked for hours. Telling each other their stories. Sansa was horrified at what Arya had been through...especially when she'd thought her dead all these years...and Arya had been equally as horrified at what Sansa had been though. Each ageed, they would never have been able to survive what the other had. Arya had said she would have killed herself, and Sansa had said she would have been killed.

One thing was for sure, Sansa knew that her sister was the only one that would be able to protect her. Who would never let a man put his hands on her without her permission again. She had thought, thought for sure, no one would be able to protect her-but with Arya she was certain, and, as such, her sister hardly left her side anymore. Each night she fell asleep to her sister's silent breathing, and each morning she was gone, but she always felt safe in Arya's presence now. She knew her sister would protect her. Never leave her side.

But today she was nowhere to be seen. Sansa had wondered if she'd donned one of her faces and disappeared. There was no way to know for sure.

That was perhaps what terrified her most about her sister-the faces. The bag of faces, with Walder Frey and gods knew who else. Arya had spirited away Littlefinger's body and Sansa had not seen it since, though she was afraid she would see his smug face roaming the halls any day now. Arya never would be so stupid, she knew, but still the fear lingered. In what way did she have plans to use Littlefinger's face? She shuddered at the ideas that came to mind.

Sansa was shaken from her thoughts at the sound of a horn. Her eyes flicked to the window, her heart began to race. There was a trail of people coming down the Kingsroad and approaching the gates.

"They're here," she said.

She took a deep breath. Steadied herself. She quickly checked her appearence in the mirror on the wall-smoothed her hair and straightened her necklace, drew herself up to her full height.

 _I am strong. I can handle this. I am powerful. I am a Stark of Winterfell and this is my home. No one can hurt me here, not even a Dragon._

And she left.

The Maester followed quickly behind. So did a few guards. She spotted a shift of white fur-Ghost-before he rushed ahead out of her sight. She knew he sensed Jon and was anxious to rush ahead and meet his human companion. _The only direwolf left,_ she thought. It was sad, so sad. She tried not to think of Lady, but she always did. She wished she had done a better job of protecting her wolf. _That witch Cersei._ They had all forgotten but her-but that had been one of Cersei's higher crimes to Sansa. Killing an innocent wolf. _Her_ wolf, as if she wouldn't soon take everything else from her.

She reached the main doors, and there was Ghost, scratching and whining at them to get out. Sansa had told the guards to let the Direwolf in and out as he pleased, but they obviously were not doing as she'd asked. She would have to do a better job of making them mind her. She suspected they were afraid of the wolf (as they should be), but they should not be so scared as to not let the poor thing out of the castle.

The doors swung open for her as she approached them, and the giant beast shot out like a bolt, Sansa to follow at a more reasonable pace.

Bran was already in the courtyard in his chair, covered with furs to keep the cold out. Ghost sat beside him, though he had the aura of about to dart as soon as the gates were open. He absently scratched behind the wolf's ear.

"Bran," she said, standing beside her younger brother.

His eyes were white. He couldn't hear her. She sighed. She heard crows caw overhead and knew he was watching from a long way away.

She stood there, and she was suddenly reminded of the day she'd stood in this very spot, years ago, fussing over her clothes, her family surrounding her, awaiting King Robert and Queen Cersei. She suddenly wanted to cry at how strong the memory was. She closed her eyes and heard the horn blow once again.

"They're coming," said Bran suddenly. His eyes were back to normal.

 _Where was Arya?_

Just as she had been on that day years ago, she was late.

Sansa sighed heavily and figeted.

"Have you seen Arya?" she asked Bran.

He was silent. Cryptic.

"I thought you could _see_ everything, where then is our _sister?_ "

Bran looked up at her. Still did not say anything.

Someone moved up next to her. It was Sam.

"Sam," she said. "Have you seen Arya?"

"No, m'lady, I haven't," he said. Gilly stood next to him, little Sam asleep in her arms.

Gilly had fared well at Winterfell so far. Sansa had ensured she had clean, fine clothes and a warm bath everyday. She was aware the girl had been a wildling, and so had designed her clothes to be a little looser and freer than Sansa's own wardrobe, but still made of fine material. She had sensed the mark of abuse on the woman, and knew she deserved all the fine things in the world that Sansa could give her. Maybe that was Sansa's way to also give herself permission to enjoy things more as well. After she'd asked, Sam had told her the girl's story, and her heart had wept for the poor woman.

Sam was just as fidgety as Sansa was, though she suspected for a different reason. She supposed he was excited to see his best friend again.

Sansa scanned the battlements.

 _Where was her sister?_

The gate began to rise, and the horn blew again. Still, her sister was nowhere to be seen. She turned to a guard.

"I know it'll be hard to find her, but please go find my sister and tell her she is expected here."

"Yes, my lady," he said, and ran off. Sansa expected nothing to come of that, but she had to do _something._

She turned back to the gate and her heart stopped.

No less than twenty Unsullied soldiers marched in, in perfect formation, through the gate. Armed to the teeth, with long spears and solid iron armor. They parted, and in rode the royal party.

Sansa was blinded as soon as she saw her.

There she rode, on a silver mare that was almost as beautiful as she was-her hair was bright white in a long braid that fell well past her waist, and she wore white furs, and her skin was milky, flushed with cold. The only bit of color that touched her were her red lips and cheeks, and her violet eyes which met Sansa's with a cold fire.

Sansa fell in love immedietely. She should have known she would-she'd always fallen instantly for every beautiful lady as soon as she laid eyes on them. Cersei. Margarey-

Her throat tightened at the thought of Margarey and she broke eye contact with the Dragon Queen. How she missed her Queen of Roses. Everyday her heart broke a little bit more knowing she'd never lay eyes on her beautiful face ever again.

Beside her rode the King in the North, straddling a stallion black as night. He looked the same as he'd looked when he left-all gloomy face and black hair tied back and long black cloak lined with thick brown fur-but there was something different about him now that Sansa couldn't quite put her finger on.

Behind them rode Davos, and the Spider, who seemed untouched by the cold, and...

Tyrion.

She had known he would be with them but with everything else going on she had failed to prepare herself mentally to see him.

 _And so my watch begins,_ he'd said, and drunkenly passed out on the couch. Sansa shut the memory away in her mind tightly.

She wished she'd realized then how kind he'd been to her, really. In comparison to Ramsey, he'd been an absolute hero, forgoing his husbandly duty only so she'd feel more comfortable. He'd refused to rape her, unlike Ramsey.

Sansa met the dwarf's eyes, and his brows furrowed as he looked at her with his sharp, intellegent eyes.

Beside the dwarf rode a woman who was very beautiful. She had wrapped herself in a navy cloak and black furs. Her skin was darker, and her hair seemed to defy gravity. Sansa fell in love with her, too. She was just as beautiful as the Dragon Queen.

On the other side, closer to the Queen, rode a hard-looking man. His face was wrinkled and sad, and his hair was dirty blonde and grisled. She could spot ugly scars run up his neck under his furs. He wore steel and looked like he knew how to use it well.

The hornblower let out three blows-one long, one short, and another long, and he was silent. Jon dismounted first, and held out his hand to the Queen.

Sansa knew she didn't need the help-she knew she rode Dragons and doubted she'd ever need help mounting and dismounting them. Nonetheless, she took Jon's hand, and dismounted. The two shared a look, and suddenly it all clicked for Sansa.

 _Daenerys is young, and unmarried. Jon Snow is young, and unmarried._

 _You think he wants to marry her?_

 _They would make a powerful alliance-together, they'd be difficult to defeat._

They were in love.

Sansa stood in shock as she watched Jon greet Ghost, who had rushed to him the second he'd dismounted.

The first she felt was betrayal.

How could he-? The Northern Lords-? And with the Great War-? And the North-? His duty was to the _North_ not to some foreign Queen who'd never stepped foot North until-? How _could_ he-?

She could not form a coherent thought.

The second she felt was anger.

 _If she's done something to him I swear-_

But Sansa was smarter than that.

 _She better not hurt him, or I'll skin her pretty white face off myself and hand it to Arya._

Sansa was surprised at her own sudden viciousness.

Suddenly, she was wrapped up in a hug. She'd been so absorbed in shock she hadn't noticed Jon approach her.

"Jon," she squeaked out, and felt a smile break her face for the first time in months. He lifted her up and spun her around.

"Hello, sister. Beautiful as ever."

She blinked at him. His smile came easy, and his eyes were bright. Sansa was shocked at the change in him. He seemed genuinely happy to see her.

He turned to Bran, and his eyes seemed rather watery.

"Bran," he said. Bran stared at his brother with that empty look in his eyes, but there was more to his face than when Sansa had embraced him, or Arya had thrown herself at their younger brother...slowly, she felt, he would come back to them. Maybe. She thought. Just maybe.

Jon knelt to embrace his little brother in the chair, who blinked and closed his eyes at the embrace.

"I can't believe you're alive," said Jon as they broke apart. "You've grown up so much, look at you, you're a man now."

Bran stared at him, brows furrowed.

"Jon, I need to speak with you alone."

Sansa threw Bran a sharp look. Their eyes met. He looked churled.

"My apologies. I am happy to see you, brother. You look well."

Jon looked at Sansa.

"Later," she mouthed at him.

Then Jon's eyes fell on Sam. The two men shared a long look that was deep with a history of shared hardships and battles. Sansa had known they were close, but hadn't realized just how close the two men were until that moment.

"Brother," said Jon, and the two men embraced. Their hug was awkwardly long. Jon was the first to pull away and grabbed Sam's head.

"I thought you were at the citadel."

"A long story," said Sam. "I'm with you, now. You're our best hope, not dusty old books. I was sick of reading of the achievements of better men."

Jon laughed. he clapped the bigger man on the head.

"There's no better man than you, Sam." said Jon seriously. Sam swallowed hard. Looked at his feet.

"And Gilly, too, and the baby," said Jon, turning to Sam's companion.

"Aye," said Gilly. "I've named him Sam."

"He's sure sprouted," he said, and tickled the little man. The baby giggled and reached for Jon's gloved hand. Sansa spotted a strange look on Jon's face, soft and gentle, and when he broke away from the toddler she spotted him look at Daenerys and then quickly away. Then he looked confused, and looked around.

"Where's Arya?" he said.

"That's the question of the day," said Sansa testily.

Jon looked hurt.

"I've missed her," he said, face falling. "I can't believe she wouldn't be here to..."

He trailed off, a jaw working in his muscle. He face was hard, masking an amount of hurt Sansa hadn't seen there since they were children and she'd called him a bastard and turned him away from her table...she couldn't have been more than three and Jon hadn't been much older but his face had been filled with such pain...

There was silence in the courtyard.

Daenerys took a step towards Jon, a look of concern on her face.

Sansa felt a rush from behind her where she'd thought a guard had been and suddenly there she was-Arya, stiff as a board and yet fluid as a water dancer, one hand behind her back and the other gripped Needle tightly-it was pointed straight under Jon's chin. Jon's eyes widened in shock and the Unsullied snapped to, spear drawn. There was a cry of outrage amoung her guards and they drew their swords. Suddenly Sansa was very frightened.

Jon was staring at Arya down the blade.

"Arya," he said, and a myriad of emotions crossed his face. " _Arya,"_ he said. His hands went up in a gesture of peace.

Her face was hard, unfeeling.

She did not look like the Arya Sansa had known all her life.

"Jon Snow," said Arya, voice calm. Sansa's heart beat hard against her ribcage.

" _Arya!"_ she scolded, suddenly very angry. "What are you _doing?!"_

"I remember when I gave you that sword," said Jon gently. "Do you?"

Arya's jaw clenched.

"Do you remember what I told you?" he said.

Arya's face flickered.

 _"Stick 'em with the pointy end,"_ they both whispered at the same time. Jon nodded and smiled. Arya did not.

"You think I'd forget that lesson?" she said, and pressed harder. Jon backed up a hair, but there was a smile on his face. He didn't seem nearly as worried as Sansa was. But then, Sansa knew what Arya was capable of.

Jon stifled a snicker.

"You're still just as skinny as your sword," he said.

Arya pursed her lips. Jon tried not to laugh, but he couldn't hold it in for long, and soon his rings of laughter filled the courtyard. Arya looked pissed, but Sansa saw her eyes dance.

Sansa heard the clink of steel as Needle fell to the ground, and suddenly Arya was on him, punching him.

Jon laughed and ducked the blows. Daenerys looked concerned but Sansa was relieved. She'd seen what Arya could really do and this was all play.

Jon grabbed Arya's tiny form around the waist and lifted her off the ground. She squealed like a little girl and Jon spun her around, Holding her tightly.

When they broke apart Jon put her down, and there were tears in his eyes as he kissed her on the brow.

"I've missed you," said Arya, voice breaking.

Jon hugged her again tightly.

"I've missed you too."

Sansa's eyes flicked to Daenerys. She would see her real intentions. She would catch her being jealous. Looking angry. Possesive. Surely she would.

But she saw nothing but a gentle softness and sadness, and the Queen looked a long way away. She wondered what she was thinking of. Her long lost brothers, perhaps?

Jon turned away from Arya and brought the Queen forward.

She stood with her head held high. The darker woman stepped forward, as well, along with the rest of her party. Davos came to stand next to Jon.

Jon cleared his throat, and looked at the darker woman.

"Might I introduce her Grace, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, The Unburnt, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Queen of Meeren, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Protector of the Realm, Rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons."

Jon looked worriedly at the woman again. she nodded. Jon looked relieved.

"My Queen, might I introduce my sisters, Sansa and Arya, and my brother Bran," he gestured to each in turn. "As well as my brother of the Night's Watch, Sam Tarly."

Daenerys smiled warmly at each of them.

"It is very nice to finally meet you all. Jon's told me so much about you."

Sansa curtsied, Arya bowed like a Knight. Bran nodded his head. Sam bowed clumsily and Gilly curtsied in the same fashion.

Jon and Daenerys shared a look. She seemed worried, but he appeared to reassure her. She shook her head, a fraction of an inch, but he ignored her and stood in front of his sisters, facing the Queen. Then, he fell to his knees. Sansa felt her jaw drop.

Grumbling and gasps went up among the Lords gathered in the courtyard. Daenerys closed her eyes at Jon's stupidity. Sansa didn't know much about the Dragon Queen, but she knew that in that moment they were feeling the exact same thing.

Sansa took a deep breath.

 _Gods, I'm an idiot too._

And she fell beside her brother, knowing she couldn't let him be alone, and others would follow _her_ if not him. There were more gasps and the grumbling grew louder. Her guards and all of the guards that stood for House Stark also bent to one knee. Arya knelt beside her. The two girls exchanged a look- _Jon is stupid as all seven hells._

However, some of the Lords refused to kneel.

"Please," said Daenerys teresly. "King Snow, stand."

" _You call him King but make him bend the knee?!"_ some man called out. Sansa looked around quickly to see who it was, but there was no indicators.

Jon rose. The rest followed suit.

"I bend the knee of my own free will-" he said loudly. "Because Daenerys Targareyn is our only hope for a better world. I bent the knee because I know who she is truly-she is not what they say. She is not the Mad Queen-that's Cersei, not Daenerys. She's not terrible. She's kind. She's wise, and listens to council. She's loving, and loyal, and brave. It was she who pledged to help us long before I ever bent the knee to her. She rescued me from beyond the wall. I saw her spare a peasant man who tried to assassinate her in White Harbor because his family would die without him when Winter came. She _deserves_ to be Queen-more than any who's sat on the Throne of Swords before her. And this is the choice I have made-because _my pride_ is not more important than the safety of the realm."

Daenerys' eyes softened, and exchanged a long look with Jon. Then she looked around.

"I did not come here to conquer. I did not come here to claim the North as my own-it has always belonged to Northerners, and so it shall remain. I come here, not with Fire and Blood, but with the hopes that you will stand besides me and face the Winter together. The Long Night is upon us, and if we don't bond together we will all die."

There was a moment of silence. Sansa's postion was precarious. She felt...on some level she felt she could believe the Queen. She stepped forward.

"In Winter, we must protect ourselves," she looked at Arya as she spoke. "Look after one another."

Arya joined in, soon followed by Bran, and then Jon.

"For when the snows falls, and the white winds blow...the lone wolf dies. But the pack survives."

There was a ringing silence that followed their shared words.

"Winter is coming, my Lords," said Jon Snow. "And we must band together, or the White Walkers will kill us all."

And with that, Jon entered the castle, Ghost at his heels, and Daenerys and his siblings following close beside him, leaving the Lords and the guards and different occupants of Winterfell behind in the courtyard.


	12. Truth

**JON**

"Jon, I need to speak with you. It's urgent," said Bran, who was struggling to keep up with his wheels that he pushed with his arms.

Jon was walking very fast, pointing out things to men and telling people things.

"Start making dragonglass arrowheads, and axes for the Dothraki, they're not _Arkhs_ but they'll have to make due. And spearpoints for the Unsullied. And we need fire. Start collecting barrels of pitch. And armor. More armor. We can't have enough of it. Have everyone in the Seven Kingdoms with a blacksmith start making all of these things, and send more men to Dragonstone to mine more Dragonglass. We will need everylast bit we can get from that cave."

"Jon," said Bran. "Please, I need to speak with you."

"If it's not to do with the White Walkers or the Wall, it's not urgent," said Jon, stopping impatiently, pointing at Bran before continuing.

"Jon," said Sam, jogging to keep up. "It is."

"No, it's really not," said Jon. "They tore down the wall. I don't know how they did it, but they did. The most important thing right now, is amassing our forces as quickly as we can, and heading straight for the wall before they get any further."

They were entering the great hall now.

"Jon," said Bran. He'd stopped, unable to keep up anymore. Jon didn't stop.

"JON!" he said again, and there was a growl.

Ghost, which had been at his heels, jumped on him, knocking him to the floor. His eyes were no longer blood red, but milky white.

"Ghost...?" Jon gasped, winded. The wolf did not respond, only growled. He felt the swish of Sansa's cloak on his face as she turned.

"Bran, stop it!" he heard Sansa say sternly, his eyes locked on the wolf that was no longer his.

Ghost's eyes went red again. He whined, ears flat, and laid down on top of Jon, sniffing at his chin, whining.

"What the hell-" he started.

Sam looked down on him, and Bran wheeled over as well, looking down.

"We need to speak with you."

"Seven hells," he said. Ghost growled at Bran. Jon was not entirely sure it was undeserved. "Off, Ghost."

The Direwolf moved off him, and Sam helped him up.

"What's so damn important?" said Jon grumpily. He shared a look with Daenerys, who seemed startled, but afraid to intervene. Jorah stood beside her, and Tyrion, who looked troubled. That did not bode well.

"I know things, Jon," began Bran ominously. "I know things other men have never known. I know who the Knight King is. I know the first men to step on these shores. I know who the Children of the Forest were, and what they created."

Jon stared.

"I see things, past and present, and future. I can see everything. I can see the moment you took your vows, and when you burnt Ygritte's body. I can see the moment you died, and came back to life. I can see the past. I can see the Mad King, and father as a child, with Brandon and Lyanna and Benjen, and their whole lives. I have become the Three Eyed Raven, Jon."

Jon wasn't sure he liked where this was going.

"I don't have time for this," he croaked out, and turned away.

"I know who your mother was," said Bran simply.

Jon stopped dead.

"And your father."

Jon turned. Looked at Bran. He stared into his cold eyes.

"Ned Stark was my father," said Jon angrily.

Bran only stared knowingly. Jon felt his heart hammering.

He took a step forward angrily. He would throttle Bran if he wasn't his brother.

"I don't have time for this," he said angrily.

But he did not leave.

Sam stepped forward. Put a hand on Jon's shoulder. Looked his brother-in-arms in the eye.

"Jon, listen to him."

Jon looked at Bran. Cold eyes that did not resemble the brother's that he had loved. He remembered the last he had seen him, laying in bed, never waking. So peaceful but in a terrifying way. He had been but a child then...both of them. How could he possibly know who his mother was?

 _Is my mother alive? Does she know about me? Where I am? Where I'm going? Does she care?_

 _The next time we see each other, we'll talk about your mother. Hm? I promise._

But they had never seen each other again...

"How could you possibly know who my mother is? No one knew but father. It's not...How could you possibly know?"

Bran wheeled closer, so that he was right in front of Jon.

"Better that I show you," and he reached out and touched Jon's hand.

Suddenly everything went dark. Jon felt a whoosh of air, like he had been moved but not moved himself. He felt very dizzy.

"Open your eyes, Jon," said his brother beside him.

He opened his eyes.

Bran stood- _stood-_ right beside him. Beneath them was a muddy ground that was upturned with horseprints. He heard the horses whinying, and heard the sound of trumpets. In front of him was a jousting rail, beyond that was a great pavillion, where sat a great many people. In the distance, he spotted the great ruin of Harrenhal. He looked back at the people.

His jaw dropped as he lay eyes on his father.

Younger, ungrisled, lines of worry free from his face...but still...his father.

"...How...?" he breathed. Bran did not answer.

Beside his father sat... Gendry? No. Not Gendry, he realized, a younger, not-fat, stronger Robert Baratheon.

On his father's other side sat his Aunt Lyanna, who he recognized from the statue in the crypt beneath Winterfell that he'd seen his whole life, but he quickly realized the statue did not do her justice-she was even more beautiful than the hunk of stone, and she was as every bit as beautiful as he'd ever heard. She looked happy, and was laughing as she chatted with her brothers, as Uncle Benjen sat on her other side.

There were others, too. And right in the center of them he saw him-the Mad King Aerys, only he did not look so Mad. A bit twitchy, and old, and decrepit, impatient, with shifty, suspicious eyes that lingered on every man in attendence. He had long flowing white locks, and he was clad in silver, and a silver crown of dragons sat atop his head. He held a cup of wine in his hand. Next to him sat who Jon supposed was his sister-wife, as she too had long silver Targaryen locks. She took Jon's breath away.

She looked exactly like Daenerys.

Or, he supposed, Daenerys looked like _her._

She was a bit older than Daenerys was now, he supposed, but her face was rather timeless.

Next to her sat a small boy, no older than five, who also had blonde hair and was watching the tourney with eager, bright eyes.

 _Viserys,_ he realized with a jolt. The only family his beloved had ever known.

In front of the King sat a pregnant dornish woman. She was also very beautiful, dressed in golden silks and wools. Her sharp eyes were fixed at a point to Jon's left.

Jon followed her gaze to see a very striking figure on the back of a grey horse. He wore black armor veined with red, and on his chestplate was the Targaryen sigil encrusted with rubies. He held a lance upright in his hand, and underneath his helmet Jon could tell the man was smiling.

"Rhaegar Targaryen," said Bran beside him.

"Where are we? How is this possible? That's father, and Aunt Lyanna, and Robert Baratheon, and _the Mad King..._ how are we seeing this? What in seven hells is happening, Bran? What is this?"

"This is how I see the world," said Bran mysteriously. "This is how I know the things I know. I see them. I see everything."

"Bran-"

Bran turned to look at him.

"No, they can't see us. We are shadows to the world. Merely observers.

"We are at the tourney at Harrenhal, or Lord Whent's Great Tournament. It's the year 281, the year of the false spring. Yes, that is our father, and the Mad King, and Robert Baratheon and Lyanna Stark. The two combatants are the shining prince Rhaegar Targareyan, and Barristen Selmy, of the Kingsguard."

Jon looked to the other side. The man was clad in the white cape and gold armor of the Kingsguard, and his lance was white.

"Watch," said Bran.

A horn blew. The horses snorted, and the two combatants lined up. A second horn sounded, and they charged.

It was barely even a competition. Rhaegar flattened Barristen Selmy, and the man lay flat on the ground, though he was laughing as if he hadn't expected it to go any other way. Rhaegar took off his helmet, setting his flowing silver locks free. He was laughing with joy, and everyone was smiling and clapping. But Jon knew what was about to happen-he'd heard this story before. Rhaegar's eyes locked with Lyanna Stark's, and she tried to look away but was always drawn back to the handsome man's gaze. He rode to a servant, who held a crown of winter roses on a pillow, and Rhaegar took them. And all the smiles died, and the yard became as silent as the crypt, as he rode right past the Dornish woman, who Jon now knew was Elia Martell, and laid the crown on Lyanna's lap.

Jon was filled with sudden anger. _He kidnapped her, and raped her, and left her to die._

He stepped forward, but Bran put a hand on his arm.

"Look at their faces," he said.

Lyanna could not break eye contact with the prince, and she was blushing. Rhaegar's eyes were soft as he looked Lyanna. He saw a spark there between the two, of what he did not know.

The scene faded, and Jon felt the whooshing feeling again, and they stood in a courtyard in what could only be Harrenhal. Rhaegar and Lyanna were walking together, and, though Jon could not make out what they were saying, he knew they were flirting, because Lyanna kept blushing and looking away, and Rhaegar's eyes danced with a fire he'd seen in Daenerys' eyes many times. The two moved closer, beneath a tree, and they stopped, and Jon caught a whisper of what they were saying.

"I love you," said Rhaegar.

"You love me?" said Lyanna, her face alight with shock and happiness. "Truly?"

Rhaegar nodded, cupping Lyanna's face and smiling. No one was around, but still Jon felt anxious. He looked around, and spotted in the shadows a young child who watched the couple's every move.

"I love you, as well, my Prince. More than you can ever know. But what about your wife? What about my betrothed? Robert would kill you if he ever knew..."

Blackness, and another swoosh, and Jon blinked and looked around. They were in a candle-lit chamber, and all around them sat the skulls of Dragons. Two people stood near the mouth of the largest one, a man and a woman, and Jon and Bran moved closer to hear...

"I know you love her," whispered the woman. Jon saw her face now-Elia Martell.

Rhaegar's face fell. But the woman shook her head and placed a finger under his chin.

"No, I know. No apologies. I understand. In Dorne we know matters of the heart are fickle things. A man or a woman can love more than one heart at a time, and in different ways. And we, though we have grown to love each other as husband and wife, have always known it would never be as true as the great loves of history."

Rhaegar looked about to protest, but Elia held a finger over his mouth to silence him.

"We have always been honest, you and I, we must not begin to lie to each other now."

Rhaegar softened.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, and his voice was deep and soothing.

"There is no need for apologies, my dear," she said, eyes warm. Kissed him on the cheek. "I give you my blessing. She is a beautiful woman."

She looked around.

"But that was not the sole reason I brought you here, my love," she said, and now her eyes grew frightened. "I fear for our children. Your father grows more and more in madness everyday..."

Rhaegar sighed. The man looked so ashamed and troubled.

"I know," he said.

"I fear he will try to harm us. He has never warmed to me, he's never even held his grandchildren...he hates us Dornish, and this has only gotten worse..."

Rhaegar planted a hand on her cheek.

"We must leave King's Landing, and we must take Lyanna too, for if he knew about that as well he would kill us all, surely. We will go home, to Dorne. For if your father knew, he would burn us all."

The scene was fading.

 _"Burn them all,"_ Rung a deep voice in Jon's ears.

" _I won't have my children driven mad as your father by that throne..."_

Anther swoosh, and Jon was ankle-deep in snow. They were at Harrenhal again, and it was the dead of night. A man in a dark cloak walked in front of him, and two other men accompained him. Jon peeked under his hood, and saw Rhaegar Targaryen. Across the yard was his aunt, who looked nervous, and also wore a dark cloak.

"We have to go," whispered Rhaegar to her when he neared. His guards watched the yard, wary of people. "We have to go, now, or they'll catch us and kill us. Varys told me... Robert knows. My father will find out soon. We have to go."

"Where?" asked Lyanna fearfully.

"Dorne. Varys has found us safe passage. All three of us will be safe there, and the children. My father has threatened my wife's life and my children's. He will kill you, too, if he finds out...We have to go, now. Guards are coming."

"Alright, my love, I would follow you anywhere..."

The scene swirled...

Suddenly Jon was blinking in the sunshine.

Rhaegar walked between the two women, and they both held his arms, looked happy, smiling... a child that looked like Elia's gripped Lyanna's hand, and Elia held a small baby...and Lyanna's belly was swollen...

They were in Dorne, Jon thought, and Elia Martell looked much more relaxed than Jon had seen her before. Lyanna looked happy, and was smiling. She and Elia wore complementing blue outfits, and Rhaegar wore purple.

They walked up to a tree, and beneath it stood an old man, a septon, Jon thought. He turned to them as they approached.

Rhaegar took Elia's hand.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

The woman looked at the small little girl who held Lyanna's hand, then smiled at her, then she looked at the baby boy in her arms. Jon thought he saw her eyes grow wet with tears.

"Yes. Yes I want to do this. I want them to be happy."

Rhaegar placed a hand on the baby, and kissed the child on the brow.

"I do to," he said softly.

He turned to Lyanna, who drew herself up.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he repeated the question to her. She placed a hand on her swollen belly.

"I love you," she said. "You are the only man I will ever love. Yes, I want to marry you."

Rhaegar brushed a stray hair from Lyanna's face. Kissed her. When he realeased her, he stepped back, and picked up the daughter, tickled her. She giggled and grabbed at his hair and he laughed. Ellia reached out to Lyanna, and grasped her hand.

"Thank you," breathed Elia.

Lyanna took the woman's other hand.

"Thank you," said Lyanna in turn, and the two woman kissed. Softly and sweetly, and Jon knew that they had come to love each other, too.

Rhaegar set down the girl, and the trio turned to the septon.

"Thank you for doing this. I know not all in your faith would approve."

"I am the High Septon," said the man. "And I can do as I wish. Not all of us are as cruel to ... unconventional relationships. And the love you three bear each other is true, I can see with my own eyes."

"Nevertheless, thank you," said Rhaegar.

The High Septon smiled, and clasped the Prince's hand and shook it.

He then picked up a book.

"Come, you two first."

Ellia handed the baby over to Lyanna, who took it and cooed over him. The Princess and Prince stepped forward, and took each other's hands.

He turned to Rhaegar.

"Do you, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, consent to this marriage between you and Princess Ellia Martell being annuled?"

"I do,"

"And you, Princess Ellia Martell, do you consent to the annulment?"

Ellia looked into Rhaegar's eyes.

"I do."

"Sign here, please, both of you," he said, and held out the book. Ellia signed, and then Rhaegar, who had to let go of his now former wife's hand, but not before giving it a soft squeeze.

"There, it's done. That's all that's required."

Rhaegar kissed Ellia on the brow, and embraced her in a tight hug. Ellia let out a sigh of relief.

"I hadn't seen that before," said Bran, who stood beside him. "They loved each other...all three...even after the annulment."

Jon turned to him.

"So Aunt Lyanna wasn't kidnapped by Rhaegar Targaryen, they loved each other. And he annuled his marriage to Ellia Martell. What does this have to do with my mother?" he asked.

"It does," said Bran. "Just watch."

So Jon watched as Rhaegar married his aunt Lyanna somewhat impatiently.

"Father, Smith, Warrior. Mother, Maiden, Crone. Stranger. I am hers, and she is mine, from this day, until the end of my days..."

And as they kissed, the scene shifted once again.

 _Burn them all..._

They were surrounded by red mountains. In front of them was a red tower. There stood Rhaegar, and Elia, and their children, and a very pregnant Lyanna on the other side of him. Elia was crying, but her daughter stood brave in front of her, protecting her mother.

"My prince, you must come back to Westeros. The King commands it."

Rhaegar did not look happy.

"No," he said defiantly.

The man looked upset.

"My prince, this bloodshed was caused by you. When you took Lyanna, Robert Baratheon swore to kill every man who swears for Targareyn until he has your head. You must come back, or more will die. You have to stop them. You have to fight for us..."

Jon's vision faded...

 _Burn them all..._

Bran was shaking next to him. Jon could not move. Something was wrong...

 _Burn them all..._

Rhaegar was kisisng a tearful Lyanna.

"Please, my love, stay here. You will be safe here. I will leave my most loyal Kingsguard to protect you, and the baby when it comes. Dayne, Whent, and Hightower will protect you. I promise. Robert will hurt them, kill them...my brother, and my mother, along with my father when they get to them...I have to fight...whatever my father is, the rest of my family needs to be protected..."

"Will I ever see you again?" she whispered.

"Of course, my love, I will come back for you, and I will hold our child in my arms, and we will be happy."

"Promise me," she whispered.

"I swear it, my love..."

"Do you have to take Elia?"

"Yes, I have to, everyone still believes her to be my wife...it will lower suspicion...she has to go to King's Landing..."

"It's not safe..."

Jon swirled...

 _BURN THEM ALL..._

He heard Bran whispering next to him...

"Burn them...burn them..."

Jon was frozen...

They stood in the Throne Room at King's Landing, next to the Iron Throne...and the Mad King sat on the throne. Two men kneeled before him, and Jon recognized them...his grandfather and uncle...they had swords at their throats.

"Burn them ..." Bran was whispering, shaking. His eyes were white.

Something was very wrong...

Bran was right next to the King, and still, he whispered...

"Burn them..."

The Mad King flinched.

"Burn them..." said Aerys and Bran, and then the two men were beheaded.

" _NO!"_ Jon heard himself yell.

He couldn't breathe...it went dark again...

They stood in a river, and heard sounds of fighting. Jon looked to see Robert Baratheon and Rhaegar Targaryen locked in combat.

"I'LL KILL YOU, YOU SWINE!" Robert was shouting. Rhaegar was laughing.

"She never loved you! She hated you!"

"YOU LIAR!"

Robert swung his mighty hammer at Rhaegar but missed...Jon's heart leapt in fear for the Prince...

Rhaegar swung his sword, and Robert met it with the handle of his hammer.

"I'm going to tell you what I'm going to do now," said Robert, who was stronger than the Prince, bowing him over as Rhaegar tried to hold firm. Rhaegar grunted, trying to keep steady footing, but the ground was muddy with melted snow.

"First, I'm going to kill you, then your father, then your mother, then your brother. I'll kill every Targaryen I can get my hands on. Then, I'll find my beloved Lyanna, and marry her. Then I'm going to sit on that ugly iron chair, and wipe your family from the history books. No one will remember the name Targaryen, no one! You will BURN!"

Rhaegar slipped out from under Robert and spun, slicing the Baratheon across the back. Robert howled out in pain and swung his hammer clumsily. Rhaegar easily sidestepped.

"No," said Rhaegar. "Let me tell you what will really happen. I will kill you, here and now, and spare Lyanna from ever laying eyes on you again. Then I will retrieve _my_ wife _,_ I will find my mother and brother and sister on Dragonstone, and _I_ will sit on the Iron Throne."

Robert swung again, too hard, and fell to the ground. his hammer slipped from his grasp. He rolled over on his back and tried to reach for his hammer, but it was too late. Rhaegar held his sword to his throat. And for a moment, Jon forgot what he knew would happen, and he thought Rhaegar might win...

Jon stepped forward, reaching out to Rhaegar, and then his heart stopped. Rhaegar looked up, looked right at him. _He saw him._

The Prince's eyes widened in surprise. His mouth dropped open in shock. His sword lowered a fraction of an inch...

 _"Son,"_ Jon saw him mouth...

Jon's heart was racing...he reached out to him...Bran collapsed besides him but he barely noticed...

And then Robert kicked at the distracted Rhaegar's legs...

 _"LOOK OUT!"_ he yelled...but it was too late...

Robert was on his feet, and Rhaegar was flat on his back, and Robert swung, like he was chopping wood, his mighty hammer hard into the ruby dragons at his chest.

Rhaegar's armor crumpled like paper, and rubies flew everywhere. Jon rushed forward, and kneeled before Rhaegar. He wanted to grab him...hold the dying man...but his arms slid right through...Rhaegar stared at him, right into his eyes, as blood dribbled from his mouth and he struggled to breathe with his crushed chest. His arm twitched up...reaching for Jon...

"My son..." he managed to gasp out between labored breathing. Then his eyes slid away, up to the sky... "Lyanna..." he breathed, and Rhaegar Targaryen was no more.

"BURN THEM ALL!"

And Jon felt wetness on his cheeks as he felt the hammer go through him, and land a second blow to Rhaegar's body...and third...never mind that he was already dead...and rubies and were flying everywhere...or was it blood...

Jon felt like he was falling...

Jon heard screams.

"NO!" screamed a woman. He heard a baby crying. Heard a little girl wailing. His eyes cleared, and in front of him was the biggest man he'd ever seen, the Mountain. He had grabbed Elia Martell, and the little daughterwas kicking at his leg, trying to protect her mother. Elia tried to fight, but she was weak...

Her screams and cries haunted him, and he wanted to rush forward to stop him from hurting her...

" _NO! NO! No! No please, please, please...NO!"_

He heard the sickening crunch and saw the Mountain slam the helpless baby against the wall...saw the little girl thronw by the Mountain, then stabbed many times by a man under the bed, and the Mountain, covered in bits of blood and skull and brains, ripped off Elia's dress, leaving her naked...

"NO!"

"Burn them all..." whispered Bran...

They left the scene behind once again...

And there was silence, blessed silence...Jon felt his body shaking...and he heard but one noise...the rasp of a grind stone on a sword.

The wind was blowing, and Jon felt the sun warming his cheeks.

He opened his eyes. Before him sat a man setting a stone to his sword at the foot of the tower he'd seen only moments before when Rhaegar stood in front of Lyanna and Elia. Jon recognized him from paintings. Ser Arthur Dayne. The Sword of the Morning.

He looked up. Six riders approached, and the man stood, and joined his two brethern, Ser Oswell Whent and Ser Gerold Hightower.

He recognized the man in front...his father, Ned Stark. _Ned Stark is my father, he's my father, he's my father..._ Jon heard himself say over and over again...he couldn't think...couldn't breathe...everything was swimming...

"Why weren't you there to protect your prince?!" he heard his father saying.

"Our prince wanted us here," said Ser Arthur Dayne.

"Where's my sister?" said his father, and Jon could sense the anger in his voice...

"I wish you good fortune in the wars to come," said Ser Arthur Dayne...and Jon could hardly see now...

"And now it begins."

Jon heard the drawing of swords...

"No. Now it ends."

The sounds of fighting...

And the scene faded again as Jon fell to his knees...

And he found himself face to face with the Mad King.

"Burn them all," he heard himself say...but not with his own lips...was he Jon anymore? Or was he Bran? He didn't know..he might have been the Mad King himself...

"Burn them all," he said again, and his lips moved in tandem with Aerys' "Burn them all."

Then, quite suddenly, a sword sprouted from Aerys' chest, and Jon felt the point brush his own armor...and the Mad King looked right at him, tilted his head as if he didn't understand...but he saw him.

"Burn them all," they said, and then Jon felt the warm spray of blood as the King's throat opened and looked up to see Jaime Lannister in tears...

Everything went dark, dark for a long time, and Jon was floating, floating, floating...

As if from a long way away, he heard the crying of a baby.

He opened his eyes, and everything seemed different, calmer. He saw everything in vivid colors, and though things were blurry he could clearly see her face. Lyanna's face...she looked down at him. She was beautiful, he thought. She looked sad, and in pain, but her features were lifted in happiness upon looking at him.

"I'm going to protect you," she was whispering. "No matter what it takes. I love you, my little one," her voice broke. "Your father loves you, and he'll come back, one day...he promised..." she was crying. "I'm going to always watch over you. I love you so much, my sweetling. Always and forever."

She stroked his cheek. It was soothing.

"I'll call you Aegon," her voice waivered again. "For your brother, and for Elia, and for Rhaegar. You are my shining little prince."

Jon reached out for her, and his fist was that of a baby's. It found her shirt, and he grasped it tightly. She smelled like home.

"Everything will be alright," she said. But Jon could tell she didn't believe what she was saying.

She was dying.

Jon felt tears wet his cheeks, and he heard a baby's cry.

"I know, darling, I know, hush now," she kissed him on the brow. "You will be safe from that awful man, you will. I won't let Robert touch you. I won't. No matter what. Oh, my sweet, my sweet little dragon-wolf. Everything will be alright."

She was growing nervous, and Jon heard the sounds of fighting drift in from the window.

"I won't let him touch you. You are my prince, the son of Rhaegar Targareyn and Lyanna Stark, the Blood of the Dragon, and the howl of the wolf, and one day you will sit on the Iron Throne. And you will be the most wonderful, loving, just and kind King to ever be born."

Jon heard running up the steps. Lyanna was crying now.

"Always be kind. And always be just. Never be cruel," she was crying in earnest now. "But always, always, always be brave."

"And always remember that I love you, always and forever, and I am always with you, my darling little boy."

Jon was crying in earnest now...and suddenly he was ripped from her arms by an unfamiliar woman...

 _No..._ he thought... _take me back to her...take me back to my mother..._

"Ned?" he heard her say as if from a long way away...

"Lyanna..."

Everything shifted, and he stood in front of a bed covered in blood. There she lay, and his father...uncle...kneeled over her...his mother.

"I want to be brave," Lyanna said weakly.

"You are," said Ned.

"I'm not," she said through tears. Jon knew she couldn't be more wrong. "I don't want to die."

Jon didn't want her to die...he was sobbing...and he kneeled beside the bed next to the man he'd called father, unable to stand.

"You're not _going_ to die!" said Ned. He turned to a maid. "Water? Is there water?!"

"No, no water," said Lyanna.

"Is there a Maester?" shouted Ned desperately, but Jon knew it was too late.

"No, Ned, please, please listen to me, Ned," said Lyanna through sobs.

And Ned leaned in closer, and so did Jon...

"His name is Aegon Targaryen. You have to protect him. Promise me, Ned. If Robert finds out, he'll kill him, you know he will. You have to protect him. Promise me, Ned. Promise me."

And Jon heard the crying of a baby. The baby was placed in Ned's hands, and Jon realized...Jon suddenly, suddenly was very aware...

 _He_ was the baby...

 _"Promise me, Ned,"_ said Lyanna.

And Ned leaned back, absorbed with the baby, and the weight of his new task, in shock, and Jon stepped forward, cupping his mother's head with his hand, and suddenly everything, his father, Bran, the maids, the baby's crying...it all stood still...time stood still...for he could suddenly touch her, and she looked right at him, just as his father had done, and there was only the two of them.

She looked at him, and Jon knew that she knew.

"Aegon?" she whispered.

"I'm here, mother," he said, voice shaking.

She smiled.

"So he kept his promise," she said. "Look at you. This is a dream...but a wonderful dream..."

And she stroked his hair away from his face.

"It's not a dream, I'm real. I'm here. I'm alive because of you."

She wiped a tear from his cheek, smiling.

"Don't cry, my son, because all is well. You are alive. And strong. And handsome. Oh, look at you..."

"I didn't know...I never knew...Father...Ned...he told no one...I thought, my whole life I thought I was a bastard...just...Jon Snow..."

"Smart of him," said Lyanna. "But you're not a bastard, my beautiful baby boy...you are a prince. You are the heir to the Iron Throne. You are my son, and the son of Rhaegar Targaryen."

Jon couldn't breathe.

"Mother..."

And a man appeared on the bed before him, next to Lyanna, a shadowy figure, but no less bright in appearance. His blonde hair flowed down his back, and his indigo eyes met Jon's. He was dressed simply in silks, this time, armor shed, free of this life.

Lyanna reached out to him, and Rhaegar took her hand and kissed it.

"My son," said Rhaegar. "I'm so proud of you."

"Father..."

"We are both so proud of you, my son. My Aegon."

Jon was crying...

He reached out for his father, and Rhaegar cupped his head.

"You can defeat them, Jon. You are so strong. So brave. A better man than I have ever been."

"Father..." he choked.

"You are the Blood of the Dragon, my son. A dragon awaits you."

"Rhaegal," answered Jon. Somehow, he knew.

Rhaegar nodded. "You may have known nothing but ice your entire life, but now you will know fire. My sister will show you the way."

"Daenerys..."

"She is your destiny...together, you and she are fire and ice. And only together will you defeat the dead. Tell her...tell her...that I'm sorry I couldn't be there with her...tell her I'm sorry she's been alone...tell her I love her, and that she is strong, and brave. Just as you are. Neither of you will ever be alone again."

Jon looked down at his mother. Back up at his father.

They were fading fast...

"We love you, my son, never forget that," said Rhaegar and Lyanna together. "We are always with you."

Jon heard crying behind him, and he turned, and his last sight was of Ned Stark holding little baby Aegon Targaryen like he might break him.

"I'll call you Jon," he was whispering to him. "For Jon Arryn, the man who took me in a called me his own, just like I will do to you, and I will call you my own. Catelyn won't be happy about it, but she'll learn to love you. You and the son that awaits me in Winterfell will grow up as brothers, and I'll raise you as my own just as he is. And one day, when you're old enough, when it's safe...I'll tell you who you really are, Aegon Targaryen. Until that day I will protect you, little one. I will always keep you safe. I promise."

And everything went dark.

 **A/N:** _I know I waited a HELLA long time to post, but I really needed this to boil around in my head a bit. I really, really LOVE this chapter, and I think it was a WAY better way to tell Jon his true parentage than Bran and Sam simply telling him. It's not technically canon that Bran can bring people into his...uh...visions...but his powers are growing exponentially now. It wouldn't be that far of a stretch to bring Jon in, (especially considering that in the books I believe Jon has similar powers to Bran's, though not as strong.)_

 _And BTW no, Bran is not OK. This was really more than he should have pushed himself to do._

 _Poor Ned. Poor fucking Ned. My heart fucking breaks for him._

 _Yes, I did put Rhaegar, Lyanna, and Elia Martell in a polyamorous triad. I refuse to believe Rhaegar would be a complete dick to Elia by snubbing her her children's birthrights, I think she totally wanted them not anywhere near the Iron Throne and wanted them to live a normal life. She witnessed firsthand how horrible the Mad King was, she might have thought that was the only way they would survive. Aerys wouldn't even hold his grandchildren because THEY SMELLED DORNISH. SERIOUSLY. THIS RACIST OLD FUCK..._

 _*clears throat*_

 _Anyway, Lyanna, would probably have no problem with her children being heirs, I think, and Rhaegar knew his father's madness was exclusive to his father. I think, perhaps, that Rhaegar might have thought that once he took the throne, it would be OK for him to be in a polyamourous relationship and not have to hide. (the OG Aegon Targaryen, was, after all, married to his two sister-wives. Targaryens are fuckin WOKE yo)_


	13. Protector of the Realm

**JON**

Jon couldn't eat. He barely slept. For when he did, he would have dreams so vivid and real that he felt as though he would drown in them, and when he awoke he would linger there for ages, stuck in limbo between waking and dreaming.

He would dream of his mother, and his father, and sometimes of Elia Martell and her children, sometimes he would dream of the man he'd called father his whole life, but no matter how his dreams turned, they would always end with a milky-eyed three-eyed raven cawing at him, and he would wake with a start.

 _"Help!"_ it would cry, for it's wings were broken. But Jon didn't know how to help.

Jon was trapped in his own world, longing for the family he had never known he had, and now would never know and would never have.

He missed them.

Missed them so deep it was a constant ache in his heart. He thought he had understood this pain before he had known, but he hadn't. He knew nothing. He _had known_ nothing, and now he never would.

He would not see anyone. No one but Missandei, who he would do nothing but learn Valeyian from...what should have been his mother tongue, what he should have known from birth...he learned it with a fevour that surprised Missandei now, because he felt like it was one of the few things he had to connect himself to them.

He read. He read everything he could get his hands on. The Maester found him every book in Winterfell's library about the Starks, which he had read before, but now re-read multiple times, and he would linger over the passages about Lyanna, reading them over and over again until the ink was smeared with his tears. He also read about his Rhaegar, read every book he could find about Targaryens, of which there were many more books than about than his mother. He read everything he could about them, where he was from, who he was. He read of Aegon the Conqueror again...his namesake...Aegon...he was Aegon...son of Rhaegar...not a bastard, not a bastard...

 _Heir to the Iron Throne..._

That part he hadn't even processed, hadn't even really cared about it, really, not when there was this ache in his heart for his family that he could not fill.

He could have spoken to Daenerys...his only Targaryen family left...for she visited often, talking to him outside his door, and sitting there, back at the door, for long hours at a time...but he was frightened to talk to her, because he knew he would tell her everything...and what if she hated him for the part he had the least amount of interest in-the throne? What did he care...he only wanted her...but he couldn't...he couldn't open the door...

 _Tell her that I'm sorry I couldn't be with her...tell her I'm sorry she's been alone...tell her that I love her, and that she's strong and brave, just as you are..._

But what if she did not believe him?

He couldn't fathom that, for the visions were now more real to him than anything he'd experienced before. He revisted them in his mind, over and over and over again, lingering over his mother and father's first, last and only conversation with him...

He spent hours in front of the mirror, trying to find them in his face. He realized just how much he looked like Lyanna, suddenly, then, and how little he looked like Rhaegar. His father could only be found in his facial structure, true, in his cheeks, and his brow, and in his curls which weren't even the right color. But he found his mother in his eyes, and he clung to the mirror, as if he could see them there with him...as if he could bring them by his side...

Jon was lost, so, so lost...

The only time he would leave his room was to go to Bran's, who had still not woken from their shared dream. He lay there in his furs like he had so many years ago, still as a stump, eyes white and unseeing, yet Jon knew he saw all. He, too, was lost, and Jon didn't know how to save him. Sometimes when he slept and right before he would wake he would feel him, could feel him screaming, and there was always, always the Raven-reaching out for the only connection it had-Jon.

 _"Help!"_ it would screach. Jon would try to reach it, to help it in his dreams, but it was always out of reach. " _HELP!"_

And Jon could do no more than sit with him...and be just as lost as him...because he felt like this world wasn't truly real, either.

He didn't know how to help. Didn't even know how, really, that Bran had shown him what he did...

Sam tried to help Bran, by reading. He sent for books from the citadel, but they had yet to arrive. There was precious little mention of any Three-Eyed Ravens in any books, and that was the only lead they had to go on. The Maester had tried many things...many drugs and potions, but they only seemed to make it worse, whether by sending Bran into a sweating fever or by making him moan but not wake...and eventually they agreed it was best to do nothing, rather than risk making it worse, and perhaps Bran would wake on his own...

Sometimes Sam would sit with Jon and Bran, and he wouldn't say much, but Jon could talk to him. Because he'd already known. But he didn't understand, not really. And Jon always felt more lost when he'd speak to him than he had before he'd opened his mouth...

Sometimes, when he went to Bran's room, Daenerys would catch him in the hall. They would meet each other's eyes, and Jon would want to tell her everything, but fear held his tongue like a vice. He wasn't sure if he hated his silence more than she did.

At first, she'd tried to talk to him, hug him, hold him, kiss him, but he'd stood there, heart raging.

 _Tell her,_ the voice in his head would scream. _TELL HER._

But he could never speak...

"Jon, _please..."_ she would say to him though tears. "Please just talk to me...at least hold me...anything..."

Eventually she had given up, and had only looked away with tears in her eyes...

He'd stopped coming to her room at night, and so she came to his, and would sit at the door for he could not find it in himself to let her in.

Until one day someone banged at his door, and it was not Daenerys, but Arya.

"Let me in, Jon," she said angrily. "Before I break down this door."

And Jon was so shocked, for she'd not visited him once since he'd fallen into his stupor, that he opened the door. She brushed past him angrily, and sat in his chair, arms and legs crossed, and stared at him.

"What?" he said.

She didn't speak.

Jon slammed the door shut.

"Dammit, Arya, either tell me what you want or get out."

She only stared.

"What are you looking at?" he said, anger rising in him.

"I'm looking at you," she said calmly. She looked him up and down. "You look awful."

"Shut up," he said loudly. She merely shook her head at him.

"You know it's been almost a month since you'vde locked yourself up in here," she said. "A _month."_

Jon scowled.

 _A whole month..._

Suddenly, he remembered, looked up at her in alarm.

"The dead..?!" he managed to croak out.

Arya pursed her lips at him.

"Don't worry, somehow we've managed without you. Daenerys has already led seven raids against the dead, and I myself have led three. Sansa's been training to fight. We haven't been able to mount a full scale defense yet, as we haven't got enough Dragonglass, but we've managed to hold them back until more shipments get in. Brienne's led five, Jaime Lannister four, Greyworm's led at least twelve, and little Lyanna Morment just led her very first raid."

Jon felt ashamed.

"Sansa's also been training. She's seen the dead, what they can do, now, and she doesn't want it to happen to her. I've been training her when I can. She's not much of a fighter, but she's fierce. I didn't realize she had this side of her. But soon she'll be able to lead a raid of her own."

Jon looked away. He felt like less than a shadow of a man.

"How far past the wall have they gotten?"

"They've barely reached the Kingsroad. Something's stopping them...it's like once they cross over where the wall was, they become slower, like they're...losing life. There's been reports of them just falling apart. And it's just the Wights...the White Walkers haven't even crossed over. They just sit there, right before the line of the wall, and stare. The Night King doesn't even fly on Viserion, he just sits there staring..."

"What?" said Jon sharply.

Arya stared at him.

"You didn't know? He rose Daenerys' dragon from the dead, and has been riding him. Other than knocking the wall down he hasn't moved for a month...well, since the day you came back, really."

Jon fell onto the bed and put his head into his hands. He couldn't breathe...

"I didn't know," he said. "That...that can't be easy for Daenerys...I'm sorry..."

Arya softened.

"Who are your parents?" she said softly after a while. "I know Bran showed you."

Jon closed his eyes. He wanted to crawl under a hole and never come out.

"Thank you for taking care of everything while I've been indisposed..." he said, trying to change the subject. Arya cut him off.

"Don't try to change the subject. Besides, if you really want to thank someone, thank Sansa and Daenerys. They've kept both the North and everyone else together. It's no easy thing to lead in times like this. Sansa's really stepped up to do what was expected of _you._ "

Jon felt ashamed of himself once more.

"Now it's time to tell me, Jon, because keeping it all in your head hasn't done you much good so far."

He looked up at his little sister. She had that determined look on her face, one he'd seen many times before.

"Rhaegar Targareyn and Lyanna Stark," he blurted out without finesse.

Arya's face fell open in surprise.

"Oh," she said, and it clicked for her much faster than it had for Jon.

"Yeah," he said.

"So father wasn't...your father. He was your uncle."

"Yeah."

"And Rhaegar...but he _raped_ Aunt Lyanna..."

"No," said Jon swiftly. _That_ was one rumor that would have to be corrected, _swiftly._ "They loved each other. I saw it with my own two eyes."

"What about Elia Martell?"

"Their...they had their marriage annuled. Rhaegar married Au...my mother... in a secret ceremony in Dorne. She was there. She looked lovely. She wanted the whole thing to happen, too. All three loved each other. Elia didn't want her children on the throne."

Arya's mouth fell open wide, and Jon could practically hear her thinking hard.

"So...so...so _you're..._ "

Jon turned away.

" _You're the true heir to the Iron Throne,"_ said Arya, piecing it together.

Jon didn't answer. But he didn't need to.

"Woah," said Arya. "I did _not_ see that one coming."

"Yeah, tell me about it," said Jon.

"No wonder you've been holed up in here," said Arya. "I can't...I can't imagine how all of that must feel."

"I thought I knew...I thought...I thought it wouldn't surprise me, finding out. I thought she would be some bar maid, or a whore, or...sometimes I'd dream she was a noble woman, but...I never thought... _this..._ and father...father knew...the whole time...that he wasn't my father...he let Catelyn believe...he let everyone think...he let _me_ think..."

He fell onto his bed.

"I didn't think I would care this much once I knew. Once father died, I'd...I'd given up hope of ever knowing...and to be hit with it like this...after...after everything..."

"Daenerys won't be happy when she finds out."

Jon looked up at her swiftly.

"I don't...I don't want the throne, I don't care about any of that..."

"I wouldn't say that to anyone but me until you think about it a little longer."

"I don't want it!" said Jon sternly.

Arya frowned, but did not say a word.

"Daenerys and I...we...we're..."

"I'm not an idiot, Jon, I know. Everyone knows."

Jon hung his head in his hands.

"It was meant to be a secret. At least until we were married."

Arya raised her eyebrows at that.

"Married?" she said, sounding a little dazed. "To the Dragon Queen?"

Jon looked up at her.

"I love her. I do...she's..."

He trailed off.

"She's like something out of a song," said Arya, nodding. "Like Aegon and Rhaeneys and Viseyna, riding their dragons into battle."

Jon softened. He'd not expected Daenerys to become a hero to Arya, but it was clear she had.

"She's something else on Dragonback. You should go on a raid to see her fight. It's marvelous."

"I know. I saw her past the wall when she rescued us."

They were silent for a moment, while Jon examined his fingernails and avoided Arya's eyes. Luckily, she didn't feel the subject needed to be pressed further.

"So your real name is..."

"Aegon Targaryen," said Jon, saying the name that sounded so foriegn to him aloud. It did not feel like his name.

"After Aegon the Conqueror," she said. "You're probably hundreth person to be named 'Aegon' in the Targaryen dynasty. Aegon Targaryen...hundreth of his name, protector of the realm."

"Shut up," he muttered. Arya stifled a smile.

"Well, you'll always be 'Jon' to me," she said. Jon was grateful for that. He wasn't sure he ever wanted to be addressed as 'protector of the realm' again.

"Aegon Targaryen. You're a Targareyn," said Arya aftrer a beat. Her eyes lit up. "My brother. A Real Targaryen."

"Half-Targaryen," he said. "Not sure you count as a real Targaryen unless your parents are also brother and sister."

"Well," said Arya. "At least you chose the right house to fall in love with someone related to you."

Jon snorted. Arya giggled. They shared a look, and Jon began to laugh. Really laugh, deep in his belly, and Arya doubled over with giggles. It had felt like a very long time since he'd truly laughed so hard, and he knew only his sister could bring that out in him. Somehow, he knew she felt the same as he.

Their laughter rang through the room, and Jon felt, for the first time in a month, that maybe everything would be okay.

 **A/N:** _I know, it's been AGES. I've been distracted by video games and life and a smidge of writer's block LOL. I've been thinking about where to end this stroy and where I want it to go, and I've got a couple ideas in mind but I'm not sure (Don't worry we're only about halfway there IF THAT lol), but I really do need to think about where & how I plan on ending this so I can stay motivated. I have a problem with finishing stories if you can't tell by my long list of "Incompletes" lol. Plus, I don't know how exactly they'll end GOT and I want to guess as accurately as I can. I personally think the White Walkers will end up killing everyone, I've thought that since I started, but that's just the cynic in me that doesn't want to get my hopes up ahahaha. So we'll see how I end this story. _

_Anyway, please_ _ **REVIEW**_ _and tell me what you think! Reviews keep me motivated! :D_


	14. Aegon, Seventh of his Name

_**A/N:**_ _I've had a requests from a few readers that I place a trigger warning before smut, so I will do this anytime from here on out that there is a chapter with smut in it. I will also list what it contains, so they can decide whether they want to skip it or not. Sorry for the intrustion in the chapter, but my reader's mental health is more important than an easily-ignored warning on the right side of the page._

 _There will be some sutty-mcsmut later in this chapter. Some mild BDSM/DDLG style activity. (Mostly spanking) I will post a warning on the right side in bold before it happens, and another when it ends._

 _Begining:_ _ ****SMUT WARNING****_

 _End:_ _ ****IT'S OVER YOU CAN OPEN YOUR EYES AGAIN****_

 _*there's two instances in this chapter, though only the first contains spanking. I have labeled them both.*_

 **DAENERYS**

The bath water was warm.

But still she shivered.

She was so cold, all the time. And she'd felt she'd had to freeze her heart, too. She'd lost twenty men today in the raid. Casualties of war, and she knew it couldn't be helped, but it ached. At least she'd been able to burn some of them when she'd seen them fall. Some others were not so lucky.

That was the hardest part, she thought, for she would visit their families after. The Dothraki women would scream and cry when she'd tell them that they could not join their ancestors in the Night Lands. She'd tried to catch everyone that fell, but she'd spotted her own men with blue eyes more times than she cared to count, and she ached everytime as if they were her own blood of her blood, and she was _Khaleesi._

She had blood on her hands, always, and it would never wash off.

She knew it wasn't her fault, knew that she was doing what she needed to protect the realm, but it felt so hopeless. Everytime they fought them back they added to the army of the dead, and there was nothing she could do about it.

She ached for Jon, wishing that she could at least fall into his arms when it was temporarily over for the day...

She sank deeper into the water, and felt her heart break a little more.

Daenerys wanted to help him, needed to help him, but she couldn't. He'd shut her out at every opportunity. He ignored her. And that hurt the most, that he felt he couldn't turn to her for her support.

They were supposed to do this together. They were supposed to be an alliance.

The fact that he'd broken his promise to come to her every night hurt, too. But she stubbornly refused to wait for him, and instead went to him. She would sit there every night if she had too, even if he never let her in. He would know she was there. He would know that he could count on her, and she would never give up on him. Never.

She knew he sat on the other side of the door every night, as after she'd already knocked and slid down the door to take her place as sentry, back against the polished wood, she'd feel the soft clunk of him doing the same that she did, sitting back to back with only a thick piece of oak seperating them, but so far away.

Clearly he longed for her as much as she did for him, but she couldn't understand why he was keeping her at such a distance.

It was heartbreaking.

Jon had always been so strong. She knew this. She'd seen it from the moment he'd stepped into her throne room. She'd never thought she'd see him break like this.

She sighed.

Her only small comfort was that Jon's sisters were some of the loveliest people in Westeros.

She'd gotten to know them quite well over the past month. Arya adored her, she could tell, and she adored the smallest Stark right back. The girl was a fighter through and through, and loved Daenerys' dragons.

Sansa, too, adored her, but for a different reason than Arya, she thought.

"You look beautiful today," she would tell Daenerys every morning.

"As do you," she would always return the compliment. And it was always true...Sansa was utterly stunning, her red hair always burning as bright as fire against the snow.

The two had quickly become fast friends, and Sansa had made her many beautiful dresses, always with a slit or two, so her legs would have room to move. Daenerys adored her.

She'd talked to both of them only once about Jon. They shared her concerns. Arya she'd spoken to only just yesterday. And she'd stayed silent as she talked. When Daenerys had finished, Arya had stalked off without another word, and she'd seemed angry. It was not that strange of behavior for the girl, thought Daenerys. She was very odd sometimes.

"Missandei," she said, and her friend stood up from where she was reading. "I'm done."

Missandei helped her stand, and the water slooshed around her calves as she stepped out of the tub with her friend's assistance. She was sore almost everyday now, and relied on her friend more than ever. She ached everywhere.

 _Perhaps I'm just getting old,_ thought Daenerys.

Missandei hesitated to hold out the robe for Daenerys to step through. She was looking at her oddly, eyes roaming her naked body.

"What?" said Daenerys, and Missandei looked at her, brows furrowed.

"My Queen, when was the last you bled?"

Daenerys' heart dropped. She swallowed hard.

She looked down at her body.

Yes, it was as familiar as ever. She had bruises from training to fight, and her legs and arms had become hardened with muscle from riding so much and training, but her belly and breasts...were also larger...and not with muscle.

Missandei cupped one of her breasts.

"They're swollen, Daenerys," and she she touched her belly.

Dany saw it in her friend's eyes.

"It's been..."

She couldn't remember the last she'd bleed. She'd known it had been before she'd left King's Landing, but that was ages ago...

"I don't remember..."

She felt dizzy. Missandei helped her into her robe and to the bed, where she sat, cupping her hands to her belly.

"Daenerys, you're pregnant," said her friend, and, perhaps it was her closest advisor saying it aloud, because the weight of that landed on her like a bag of stones.

"No..." she said. "I can't be. Not again. Not now. I can't...I can't do this again..."

Missandei's arms were wrapped around her.

"It's alright, it's alright..." she was saying, but Daenerys barely heard her.

"What if it's like the others," she choked out, and the tears came hard and fast, and Missandei gripped at her and brushed her hair, and Daenerys felt herself collapse. Her friend held her close. "I can't...not with Jon's...it's too...it will hurt too much...I can't...I can't..."

"You don't know that it will be like the others," said Missandei fiercely, forcing Daenerys to look at her through tear-flooded eyes.

Daenerys could feel her heart breaking. Visions of the scaly monster she had miscarried in Meeren floated through her head, so small and helpless...sitting there in a pool of blood and curled up, covered in scales...

"But it will," said Daenerys, voice breaking. " _When the sun rises in the west,"_ she chanted, " _and sets in the east. When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When my womb quickens again, and I bear a living child..."_

She looked at Missandei.

"I will never again bear a living child."

Missandei looked pained, but she knew Daenerys spoke the truth.

"Perhaps Jon will be right," said Missandei after a while, hopeful optimism shining through. "Perhaps she lied."

Daenerys looked at her. She didn't believe her.

There was a knock at the door.

Daenerys screwed up her face.

"Tell them to go away," she said. Missandei's face filled with sympathy and she nodded.

Missandei crossed the room to open the door, but when the door creaked open Dany did not hear her friend's voice. She turned angrily, prepared to tell them off herself, but Missandei's mouth was open in shock, and she let the door fall open fully.

Dany gasped, and tears flooded her eyes immeditely.

"Jon," she said.

There he stood, the King in the North, dressed simply other than his fur cloak. He looked sheepish. He stared at her, and she stared right back. She pulled the robe tighter around her, and he looked hurt.

"Hey," he said softly. "Can I...can we...talk for a moment?"

Dany swallowed hard. She looked at Missandei, and they shared a look. Dany pleaded with her eyes _don't you dare leave,_ but Missandei gestured at Jon with her eyes, and Dany pursed her lips.

Missandei gathered her book, and looked at Dany pointedly.

" _Tell him,"_ she mouthed, and left, closing the door tight behind her. Dany sighed.

"I suppose," she said, turning to Jon. "You may speak."

She couldn't tell him. It would kill her to see him happy, only to have his heart broken by the inevitable conclusion. She wouldn't tell him. She would never tell him. It would break his heart. It had already broken hers.

Jon shifted from foot to foot awkwardly.

"I'm sorry," he finally managed to get out. "I know I've been...I know I've been..."

"A complete ass?" said Daenerys, glaring at him.

He looked down in shame.

"I've dishonored you. And I've dishonored the name Stark," he glanced up at her. "And the name Targaryen," he muttered. "I'm not worthy of the title King. I'm not worthy of your hand anymore. I'm not worthy of sharing your bed."

Dany felt her heart shattering, and as it hammered she stared at him in fear.

"I've been a coward."

"You could never be a coward," said Daenerys stiffly.

Jon looked up at her, brows furrowed, pain on his face.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm so sorry."

"Jon," said Daenerys, and her heart wrenched with sympathy and desperation. "Please tell me. What is going on? Why have you..." her voice waivered, and she took a deep breath. "Why have you ignored me? What happened? What did Bran show you that affected you so deeply it would make you forget all that you are?"

Jon took a heavy breath, and he crossed the room and fell into a chair, head in hands.

"Just _tell me,_ Jon," she pleaded. "Who is your mother?"

Jon let out a pained moan.

Dany felt her temper rise.

This was not the man she loved.

She stood, and crossed the room to stand in front of him. Her robe fell open, but she did not close it. She bent, sliding a hand under his chin.

 _How dare you ask the truth, when you keep this secret of your own?_ a voice in her head thought suddenly. She felt anger rise again, and gripped his jaw tightly, ignoring the thought.

"Tell me," she said fiercely. _Tell HIM,_ said the voice again. Her free hand sneakily slid up to cup her belly, and her heart broke once again as he looked into her eyes, and his eyes were sad, so sad, and his mouth hung open with words he could not speak, breathing labored. "Tell me, Jon, I command you as your _Queen."_

Jon swallowed hard, breathing labored, and he fought for words.

"I feel like I've been stuck between two worlds, Daenerys...like I'm still stuck in Bran's vision...I can't get it out of my head...everytime I sleep I go back to it...and I dream about it when I'm awake...I can't escape it and always he's there...Bran...the Three Eyed Raven...whatever he is...he's stuck, and I can't help him...I can't help myself...I'm stuck there, in the past...and so is he..."

Dany's brows furrowed. She sensed not all was as it seemed. Something was wrong...so wrong...Bran had been stuck in a coma since their vision...and Jon was as he had said...and ever, always, there was the Night King...sitting there, on _her child..._ the body of her fallen...

He throat tightened.

She couldn't think of that now. Jon needed her.

"This isn't you, Jon. There's some magic at work here. I can sense it."

Jon nodded.

"It's not your fault."

Jon sighed. Shook his head.

"I should be stronger than this."

Dany gripped his chin in her hands.

"Magic is dangerous, and powerful, and more powerful people than us have fallen into madness or worse because of it..."

For some reason, an image of her father, the Mad King, burned into her mind. She didn't understand. She had been thinking of Mirri Maz Duur and what she'd done to Drogo, and of the Red Priestesses, who were capable of rising the dead and more, and the things she had seen in the House of the Undying, and how it had so enraptured her and felt so _real_ when it had only been magic...and she knew this was stronger than the magic she had seen in Qarth. There was no reason for her to be thinking of her father, as his madness had not been magic-induced. He had just gone mad.

"Tell me, Jon," she begged. "Please, just tell me already."

Jon gasped for breath, knuckles white as he gripped his hair and stared at his shoes.

"My mother was Lyanna Stark," gasped Jon finally, like he had taken his first breath after drowning. "And my father was your brother. Rhaegar. He was my father."

Dany felt her hand slip from his jaw and her knees hit the floor. Her legs didn't seem to work. Her heart began to race.

"What?" she repeated.

She couldn't have heard him right.

"My father...was Rhaegar Targaryen," Jon choked out, eyes filling with tears despite his best efforts.

"Rhaegar..." repeated Daenerys, heart hammering. "Rhaegar?"

She couldn't process it, not really, not in her mind, she couldn't quite process what he'd said.

She could see nothing but his eyes, which looked at her with desperation. _Please,_ they said, _please, please..._

Please what?

She didn't know...

"I'm your nephew," said Jon, words slipping from his tongue.

"My...nephew?" she repeated.

Jon nodded, eyes desperate for her.

"My mother named me Aegon Targaryen, for Elia's dead child. I'm Lyanna Stark's son. I'm Rhaegar Targaryen's _son..._ "

"Aegon..." she whispered.

Finally she looked at him, really looked...

His face...how had she not noticed at first? How had she never noticed?

His jaw, his cheeks, his heavy brow...

She imagined him blonde, his eyes shifted to indigo...

And she would have seen the mirror image of Viserys, who she knew had looked exactly like Rhaegar, as she'd been heard said many times. How had she never noticed? He shared the same brows as her, the same brooding expression...their stubborness, their tempers...Jon's affinity for the Dragons...how he'd reached out to them and touched their fiery hearts...and hers...and... _how had she not realized?_

Her brother's son. Her nephew. Her family.

"You are blood of my blood," she whispered at last, and cupped his face in her hands. "My brother's son...Why didn't you tell me?"

Jon pressed his forehead to hers, face pained, and his strong, warm hands wrapped around her wrists. Then he tore his face away from hers.

"I couldn't...I don't know...I just...I tried, so many times...I wanted to...I never could...find the right words."

"Oh, Jon," said Daenerys softly, her heart melting as she thought back, to when they would cross in the hall, and he'd always...he'd always looked like he'd wanted to tell her something, now that she thought about it.

"There's more," he said, and his voice tore at his throat. "You won't like to hear it."

"Jon," she said, not able to breath.

He shook his head.

"I have to tell you. I _have to_..." he clenched his teeth. He clung to her wrists painfully, as if they were his only lifeline. She brushed his cheeks with her thumbs.

"Rhaegar never kidnapped Lyanna. He never raped her. He loved her. She loved him. He annuled his marriage to Elia with her consent, and Rhaegar and Lyanna...they were married in a secret ceremony in Dorne. Bran showed it to me...and Sam has the Septon's journal that performed the ceremony...I'm...I'm..."

Dany's heart fell as she looked at him, and her mouth fell open. She heard a ringing in her ears...she couldn't breathe...

"You're the true heir to the throne," she concluded.

He nodded.

She pulled herself from his grasp, and stood up, turning her back to him. Her hand drifted to her mouth in shock.

"Yeah," she heard his voice as if from a long way away.

The image of Jon sitting on her throne, a crown on his head, came unbidden and unwelcome into her mind.

She had come this far...so far...only to have it ripped away from her by a _man..._

She shook her head in anger. How could she think such a horrible thing? Jon was the most honorable _man_ she'd ever met...Jon would break the wheel as much as she would, he would be _better_ at it than she would...

If Jon was the heir to the Iron Throne, he was the heir to the Iron Throne. That was that. She wasn't so petty as to take it from him. It was his right, as her eldest brother's trueborn son. It was hard, the hardest thing she'd ever know she'd have to do...

But she knew it would be the _right_ thing to do.

And she knew Jon would do the same for _her_ were he in her position.

But that didn't make giving up her ambitions easy.

She took a deep breath, turned, and looked at him. She smiled, lip quivering, before bowing her head and falling to a knee.

"If you are the King, than you are the King, it's only right I support your claim, for our House."

Jon shook his head furiously, and the chair flew back as as he threw himself from the chair to his drop to his knees before her, putting himself lower than her as he slouched over. He grabbed her chin roughly and raised it from the floor to his eyes. He looked like he was about to be sick.

" _No,_ Dany, _NO,"_ he said fiercely. "I don't want that damned thing. I don't care about it, I never wanted it nor do I have any right to sit on it. _You_ deserve that. That has _always_ been _your right._ It doesn't matter. I don't care. I don't want it. I only want you. Never kneel to me again. Never. Never. _Never. You_ are the true Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, regardless of who my parents are, I don't _care._ "

Dany shook her head, and grabbed his, pressing her forehead to his.

"Blood of my Blood," she said again, and her fingers tangled in his hair. "Don't speak in haste."

"I don't...I don't want it...I don't _care..._ " he sobbed, and he crumbled in front of her.

Dany held him close as he weeped into her chest.

"Oh, _Zokla hen ñuha prūmia,_ " she murmered into his hair. " _Iksā daor mērī._ "

 _You are not alone._

He wrapped his arms under hers and up her back, hands clinging to her shoulders. She pulled him tighter into her lap.

He was like a small child at that moment, and her heart broke for him as she was reminded of their child in her belly. Her eyes filled with tears as her heart broke for him again and again. She couldn't tell him. She could never tell him.

This had already broken him. She wouldn't do it any farther.

And a sense of peace settled over her like a warm blanket, as she could see their tragic destinies spread before her like a map. There was no happy ending

 _When the sun rises in the west,_

 _And sets in the east._

 _When the seas go dry_

 _And mountains blow in the wind like leaves._

 _When your womb quickens, and you bear a living child._

 _Then he will return_

 _And not before._

She imagined it before her, their beautiful life they might have had. They would sit on the throne together, as husband and wife, and have many beautiful children with silver hair, and the people would not suffer and would not starve, and there would be no war, no suffering, there would be a golden age of peace.

But that was a _lie._

It was winter, and the dead would rule, and the Iron Throne would freeze. King's Landing would fall, and be blanketed with snow. She would never sit on her father's throne, and neither would Jon. Her womb would dry up like sand, and she would birth a stillborn half-dragon half-human monster. There would never be any peace as long as the wheel still turned, and Winter would always be coming.

She raised his head from her chest, and looked at him, heart calm and head clear.

She would cherish him while she had him, for she would not have him for long.

There was no happy ending to this story.

Daenerys brushed his hair from his face, fingers dancing over his brow and cheeks. She cupped his face with her hands, and brushed the tears from his eyes. Her looked at her with those sad, lost eyes.

She pressed her lips to his.

At least she wasn't alone in the world anymore.

"I don't know what to do anymore," he said when they broke apart, voice raspy. "I don't even know who I am anymore."

"You are my family," she whispered into his breath. She opened her eyes to look at him. His eyes were closed tight in pain. She tapped his chin, and he looked at her. "You are Aegon, of House Targaryen, Seventh of your Name," she cupped his chin, and he shook his head, but she continued. He needed to hear it. He needed to hear her say it. "You are also Jon _Stark_ of Winterfell. Because are _too_ a true Stark," Jon swallowed and took a deep breath. She'd learned a great deal of his deeds from her time among his people, and she would use every single one of them now. "You are King in the North, a _nd,_ you are King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, leader and friend ofthe Free Folk. Friend of Giants. You are the 998th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. Defender of the Wall. The Shield that guards the Realms of Men. _Protector_ of the Realm. You are The Resurrected. the Unfrozen. The White Wolf. The Watcher on the Walls," Jon looked at her like she was breathing life back into him. "You are the Rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms." She ran a hand through his hair. "You are the beloved of the Mother of Dragons, who is, _too,_ the rightful Queen, you are her husband of her heart and soon of law, and you are the stongest, bravest, most honorable man she has ever known."

She pulled him closer, looked deep into his eyes. He held her tight, and she knew he had finally, at last, returned to her.

"If the day comes, when the world must chose one of us to sit on the throne, we will refuse the one. Only together will we take the Throne, and only together will we rule. I will not do it without you by my side. I was never going to anyway. But now you are as equally King as I am Queen. Together, we will make the world a better place, and we will break the wheel _together."_

Jon cupped her face. Kissed her.

Looked into her eyes, and she saw the warrior in him again. Saw the King.

He nodded.

"Together."

Dany kissed him fiercely, and he held her to his lips like it was the only thing that kept him with her. She held him desperately, and he lifted her up effortlessly. She clung to him as he walked her to the bed, and floated her down gently in his arms to the soft sheets. He kissed her neck, brushed her hair away from her face, then looked deep into her eyes.

"I will never abandon you again."

Daenerys smiled. Cupped his curls in her hand. He leaned his head into her hand.

"I'm so sorry for everything. Everything. I will never leave you again. I will be with you every night for the rest of our lives, and I will ride with you into battle in every battle, and I will never leave you or our people again. I'm so sorry."

"Shh, Jon," she whispered, sliding his pants over his hips. "I know."

 _ ****SMUT WARNING****_

He kissed her deep, then, and inserted himself into her. They both moaned in contentment. _It had been so long._

As he moved inside her and she gripped him tightly with her legs, fire rose in her belly once more, and the cold faded from her, and once again Jon had breathed the fire back into her...as she had breathed fire into him.

 _Blood of my Blood._

He thrust deep into then, and silenced her wandering thoughts. She looked deep into his eyes, and there she saw the man she loved, the father of her child. King of the Seven Kingdoms whether he liked it or not, and King of her heart.

"Aegon," she whispered, and he shut his eyes against it. She grabbed his chin, forced him to look at her. " _Aegon,_ " she said, and thrust her hips up to meet his.

He looked at her, and she saw that fire in his eyes once again. She thrust herself onto him once more.

" _Aegon,"_ he whispered.

He growled.

Jon pinned her down by her wrists.

"That's not my name."

She raised her chin to him proudly.

"That _is_ your name. And you will wear it with honor."

He thrust into her. Hard.

"Aegon," she said fiercely, lifting her hips and denying him the friction of pulling back, thrusting him deep into her and she felt her womb twitch with pleasure.

He groaned.

"Daenerys," he warned.

She ground her hips into his.

" _Aegon,"_ she responded.

Daenerys swore that if Jon had been a dragon he would have breathed fire. He gathered up both her wrists in one hand, holding them tightly, and grasped her damp hair in a fist. She was pinned. She grinned as her heart raced with excitement. She had never done something like this before.

" _Jon,"_ he said forcefully.

He leaned over her and looked her in the eyes. His beautiful brown eyes were exceedingly gentle, but a fire burned behind there. _Don't test me,_ they said.

Oh, she would.

She licked her lips, raised her head so her lips were a hair's breadth away.

" _Aegon,"_ she breathed.

His grip tighted on her head and she felt a very pleasent pain at her scalp. She smiled.

"You," he growled, letting go of her, slipping out of her and flipping her over. "Are _incorrigible."_

And he slapped her ass. Hard.

Dany gasped at the sudden pain. Her whole body became erect, and the entirety of her hole seized, tightening in pleasure.

She reeled in shock for a moment, as the sting faded.

He shifted beside her. He still had his clothes on, and his pants drifted around his thighs as his cock was sprung free and glistening from her wetness. She looked over her shoulder at him.

His eyes were gentle and worried, somewhat fearful, but there still burned a dominance that was only tempered, not extinguished. He leaned over her, and ran his hand gently over her hair. She closed her eyes and her heart warmed at his touch.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, the intimidating growl not gone, but quivering on the edge of his voice, which was gentle.

"Yes," she breathed.

"Is this...is this...something you want to do?" he asked softly.

She nodded eagerly.

"That was...I liked it," she breathed, looking at him. A small smile cracked his face.

"Do it again," she commanded, _"Aegon."_

His hand tightened in her hair and she inhaled sharply.

His hand came down hard on the fleshy part of her ass again.

"Say my name," he growled in her ear.

" _Aegon."_

He hit her other cheek this time, and she let out a soft cry of surprise.

"No, my love. _Jon."_

She drew herself up as best she could.

She was more stubborn than he was, she would prove it, and she would work his heiritage into his head and _make_ him accept it if it was the last thing she did.

"Aegon Targaryen. Seventh of your-"

 _Smack!_

Her whole body stood alert in pleasure. She felt a wetness slip down her inner thigh.

He rubbed the cheek of her ass firmly, and it lessened the sting slightly.

He slid his fingers along her wet slit, and she moaned shakily. The pain had only furthered the pleasure.

"A-Aegon..." she said shakily.

He took away his fingers, and that stung more than the smack that soon followed.

Jon gently rubbed her bottom, kissed it. Her whole body melted. He moved to sit on the bed cross-legged, and pulled her onto his lap. He gently gathered up all her hair in a ponytail, and held it tightly in his fist. He rubbed her ass threatingly, fingers brushing her slit. She was soon shaking all over in anticipation.

He leaned over, kissed her cheek, whispered in her ear.

 _"What's my name?"_

He squeezed her hair and her ass. She grinned.

"Aegon!"

He growled.

Hit her. Harder than before. Tears sprung at her eyes from the pain.

"All you have to do is call me _Jon,_ and I stop."

She didn't want him to stop.

"I will never call you Jon, _Aegon,"_ she teased, and he spanked her again. She recoiled from it, as her cheeks were already in pain from the previous one. But he held her firm, and she could not squirm much, for his hand held her hair tightly.

"You are Aegon Targaryen," she said determinedly. "Seventh of your name-"

 _SMACK._

The clapping sound echoed throughout the room, and the fire crackled as a log collapsed. Her ass stung longer than before.

" _Seventh_ of your name. Ki-"

 _Smack!_

She gritted her teeth against the pain, but she was stubborn, and he was growing angrier by the minute. She found that indescribably hot.

"KING of the North, the Andals, the Rhoy-"

 _SMACK!_

"The Rhoynar, and the First Men-"

 _Smack!_

 _"Lord of the Seven Kingdoms-_ "

 _SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!_ her ass was burning, but she would not let up.

"Protector of the Realm! Aegon, the White Wolf, Aegon, the Unfrozen, Aegon, the Resurrec-"

 _ **SMACK!**_

She cried out in pain. That one _really_ hurt.

He stopped, resting his hand on her lower back.

"No," he said, and his voice was filled with pain.

She stopped, looked at him best she could. He loosened his grip on her. He looked hurt.

Daenerys wondered whether it would be best to continue, and let him work through it, or to stop.

 _ ****IT'S OVER YOU CAN OPEN YOUR EYES AGAIN****_

" _Zokla hen ñuha prūmia,"_ she whispered. He looked at her. Sighed heavily. And she knew.

"Oh, Jon," she murmured. He let her go. She crawled into his lap, straddling him. His manhood pressed into her thigh. He was _very_ hard. She pressed her forehead to his. He closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

"Shh," she breathed. Ran her fingers through his curls. "What is it, my love?"

"I don't...I don't want to be King. I don't...I don't even like being King of the North."

She kissed his forehead.

"But you bear it well. A good ruler never wants to rule."

He looked at her. Frowned.

"You do."

She looked down. Shook her head. Looked in his eyes.

"No. I don't like it either. I don't want it."

"But you...you've sought it out, you've fought for it..."

"Yes," she said. "I have."

"Why?"

She sighed.

"Because I see injustices in the world, and no one stopping them. I saw slavery, and no one stopping it. I saw innocent people-children, being hung on crosses and left to die, and no one would help. I saw women being raped and defiled, and no one would stop it...no one, but me. I _had_ to...because I was the only one who _would._ "

Jon looked at her.

"And haven't you done the same?" she finished.

She knew he had.

 _ ****AND AGAIN...SMUT WARNING****_

His eyes blazed into her, and he kissed her, hard, desperate. She shifted, and slid him inside of her once more, and they moaned together.

"You are Aegon Targaryen, whether you want to be or not..." he thrust into her. "Y-you might have been raised as a bastard, Jon Snow, but you were born, _ahhh,"_ he thrust into her again, deep. "...to _rule._ And we rule..." -he ran his tongue up her neck- "...because we _must-"_ he thrust into her again and she moaned. _"_ To stop people like Cersei-" _he was biting her neck oh gods..._ "-from inflicting her _pain"_ -he squeezed her sore bottom-"on innocent people. Cersei- _ohhh,"_ -he jerked quickly into her- "doesn't care about the _realm_ as we do-" he mouthed at her collarbone, sharp teeth grazing it threateningly- "she would rather watch it _burn_ -" he pulled at her hair and she moaned... "We can't let that happen."

He looked at her, eyes tight. She moved on top of him, circling her hips, and his eyes rolled as he closed them. He held the back of her neck tightly, hand buried in her messy hair, and kissed her breast, sending shoots of pleasure straight to her groin. Her nipple hardened as he circled it with his tongue.

He grabbed her, then, tightly, and flipped her over so he was on top, and slammed himself into her hard, once, twice, three times, then he flipped her over, pressing her face into the pillows. Her heart raced as he lifted her on her knees and fucked her like a Dothraki whore. But he reached around, like a Dothraki would _never_ do...and began rubbing the little nub between her legs, sending waves of pleasure through her body.

And then Jon smacked her ass. She moaned loudly, and he did the same as her walls tightened around him. He did it again, and again, smacking her bottom, rubbing her in torturously repetitive circles, quickening the louder her moans became, and she begged him, for what she did not know, but she saw stars and he was relentless, and he wasn't even moving in her anymore but she felt herself floating, floating...and wave after wave of pleasure hit her, and then he bagan to move, hard and fast, and she couldn't see anymore from the pleasure, as he relentlessly rode through her orgasm, not stopping long after she'd finished and forcing her into a second one soon after, and her legs started to shake and just when she thought she couldn't hold herself up any longer he came deep inside her growing womb.

Still, he did not stop, instead moving off and burying his face between her legs while she stayed on her knees, making her come again with barely even a half a minute's breather. And she cried out loudly as, finally, she was allowed to collapse into the bed.

 _ ****IT'S OVER YOU CAN OPEN YOUR EYES AGAIN****_

It was wet with drool and tears, but she was past the point of caring, and she was barely aware of anything but the floating sensation.

His fingers brushing her hair startled her out of it, and she looked in his eyes. He was laying beside her, staring at her.

"You're beautiful," he said softly, gently kissing her in her daze. She smiled.

"I win," she said. He smiled at her.

"It's not a competition," he said.

"It was," she said.

"So why did you win?" he said. "I made you cum more."

"True," she said.

" _But..._?" he said "You still think you won, why?"

"Because from now on, whenever someone calls you _Aegon,_ you will think of this."

His mouth fell open.

She grinned, rolled over, snuggled deep into him, and began to drift off.

He groaned at her, and bit her neck. She smiled in happiness as he nuzzled into her.

 _There is no happy ending,_ thoughts intruded on her. She grabbed Jon's hand, and placed his warm hand over her only slightly swollen belly. He sighed in contentment, and her heart thrummed. She wished she could tell him, but she was scared.

Maybe this time would be different.

And they had this moment.

They needed the hope, they had to hold onto it like a desperate lifeline.

And she needed him, and he needed her, and maybe _, just maybe_ , the child in her belly would live. Maybe, the child would be human, and _maybe,_ someday, it would inherit all they had conquered together, and all they would hopefully save, and from mother and father would birth a song of Ice and Fire.

 **A/N:** _So, I'm sensing a little hostility in the comments over the last chapter...hopefully this chapter makes up for it? :D ... and don't worry, Jon will have a chance to redeem himself. I really wanted to showcase how lost he was, and how powerful depression is when it sinks it's claws in, and that it can happen to anyone, even wonderful, brave, strong, amazing Jon. I wouldn't have any fun writing this if I didn't push the characters a little...or a lot. His parentage forces a lot of destiny on Jon, and he kinda shut down, which (for me) is completely understandable. He WAS lost, completely, and it wasn't just because of the depression...he was also stuck in Bran's otherworld, half in, half out, as Bran couldn't get him out of their properly. That's why his dreams were so vivid and disturbing for him, and he always dreamt of the Three Eyed Raven, because Bran was reaching out to him for help, as it's the only thing tethering him to the world of the living. ONLY ONE of you guessed right in the comments, so proud of that person!_

 _Sorry if you got a 50 shades vibe. I really wasn't going for that xD 50 shades ruined BDSM forever unless those of us that actually know what BDSM is really like change the perception. Now, granted, BDSM as it stands today probably didn't exist in Westeros, though I'm sure the idea of it's there. Remember Littlefinger talked about one of the girls in his brothel was sad, and he had a client that want to change her in ways no one had thought of before...I got a little BDSM/DDLG vibe from that although OBVIOUSLY non-consensual and gross because that poor girl probably went through hell. And, I really doubt Jon and Dany would even KNOW to do such things, but they might have some ideas in their heads of what they could do to each other, and really Jon (and Dany) were acting on insticts here. Dany was being a wonderful sub and checking on the mental health of her dom and when she knew it had been pushed too far, and Jon did well asking for her consent to continue. He even gave her a "safe word" as such in giving her an "out," in saying his name. I also tried to show that having that kind of relationship can really help a person work through whatever is bothering them, and that was especially true with Jon, who has gone through a lot and would benefit the most at this point from a DDLG relationship. And no, it won't hurt the baby. :)_

 _I feel like I didn't address Dany's pregnancy enough. But she did just find out, and didn't even really finish processing it before Jon walked in. Y'all knew it was coming, so I didn't feel the need to make it the whole chapter and end on a cliffhanger. But I really don't think she would tell Jon, as in, at least in my story, she's had several miscarriages before. Obvs she's had her period, like any healthy woman would, but she definitely got preggo on that boat, BTW interesting tidbit. The rest of the sex was just extra. ;P_

 _Now you see why I wanted to move the story forward a month? It's been about two or three months since boatsex. Enough time for her (and Missandei) to notice her body changing. Her eggo is preggo, but who knows if it's a healthy baby or not (I do! I do! But I'm not telling). Who knows if she'll ever tell Jon, either. She doesn't want to hurt him, and it's already breaking her heart, because she knows (or thinks she knows) whatever child she has will be a monster. Not your typical Recurrent Pregnancy Loss case, but it's definitely a good representation of that. Miscarriages aren't talked about enough. (I've never had one, in fact I've never been pregnant, nor have I ever really had anyone close to me pregnant or been part of the process, so anyone that could give me some info as to personal experiences I would be grateful,) but I've met people who had a rainbow baby after having several miscarriages, and they were very very happy people._

 _Don't hate me too much because of what I did to Jon...remember, I'm only human and so is Jon. He recieved information about himself that anyone would react unpredictably to. Even Robb broke down like a child at the news of his father's death, and Jon's not much older than Robb was when that happened. People do things that may seem strange or out of character, but it's just the way that some people react. It seemed right when I wrote it. Sorry if you didn't like it, I really am. Jon is changing significantly now, and he had been ever since he was resurrected. I'm really hurt by some of y'alls comments...but it's okay, I guess, I'll live, and I'm an art major, so I can take constructive critisim...but damn some of y'all were harsh...especially for a story that's never got anything but love...so I must have really gone wrong in the last chapter. I'm really sorry about it. But I feel I can recover! THE SHOW MUST GO ON._

 _Love y'all anyway!_

 _WOW That author's note was long! Please_ _ **REVIEW!**_


	15. Consequences

**SANSA**

"Left!"

"Right High!"

"Left High!"

"Left Low!"

Pain erupted from her hand as Sansa failed to block properly, and Arya had managed to tap it with the wooden sword.

"Ugh!" called out Sansa, throwing her sword in frustration. "This is hopeless, I'll never get it!" 

"You will," said arya determinedly. "You just have to keep trying!"

"What is even the point of this? I'll always have you to protect me anyw-"

Her sass was rewarded with a sharp rap to her side.

"I didn't even have my sword!" she said indignitely.

Arya shrugged.

"People don't fight fair. You shouldn't, either."

She swung her sword clumsily at Arya in anger. The smaller girl easily sidestepped.

Sansa snarled in frustration. Arya pursed her lips.

"Sansa, this is important," said Arya seriously, lowering her sword. She still wore Needle and Catspaw on her hips, always prepared for real battle. She handled the wooden stick easily, where Sansa still struggled to lift it.

 _"The sword is part of your arm,"_ she'd said when she'd first thrown it to Sansa, who had dropped it. _"Can you drop part of your arm?"_

"I'm might not always be there to protect you," said Arya. Her sister said it with confidence, but Sansa saw the worry behind her eyes. "You have to learn to protect yourself. It's the only way."

Sansa sighed.

"This was never something I would ever be good at," said Sansa hopelessly. "This has always been your area."

Arya swung the stick at her, hard. Sansa missed blocking it and the wood hit her elbow. Sprouts of pain erupted through her arm and through her fingers. But Arya did not let up. She swung at her other side. Sansa missed again, and earned a whack to her shoulder. And again, Arya swung, this time low, aiming for her knees. Sansa managed to stop it this time, but Arya twirled, and hit her on the side of the head.

"Arya!" she cried out in anger.

"Dead," said Arya, stick hovering over her neck. "Again!"

She stabbed at her front, and Sansa knocked the stick aside. Arya stabbed again, and Sansa got a blow to the stomach. Winded, she stepped back, clutching her stomach.

"You think it matters now?" said Arya, and her voice was angry. She swung at her left side. Sansa blocked, but only barely. "You think it matters whether you _enjoy_ fighting or not?" Arya swiped at her feet, and Sansa jumped over it. Arya grinned, but her eyes flashed with anger. "You think your needle and thread will save you from the White Walkers?"

Sansa felt herself flush with anger. Goaded, she swung at Arya. Blocked. She jabbed at her head. Thrown aside. Sansa gripped the stick tighter and twirled, aiming for Arya's side.

She gasped as the sensation of wood hitting flesh resonated up her arm. She'd never landed a blow before.

Arya smiled, eyes flashing.

"Good!" she shouted, hand clutching her side. " _Good!"_

Sansa stood in shock, and her stick lowered.

Arya laughed.

"Well done!" she said, and threw herself at her sister. Sansa flinched, raising her stick, but her sister threw her arms around her before she could raise it half a foot. Sansa stood in shock for a moment, but then returned the hug, and she felt pride well in herself and fill her up like a warm soup.

"Good job, Sansa. I knew we'd get there."

The two girls broke apart, and Arya rubbed her side.

"That _hurt._ "

Sansa smiled, and she felt a laugh bubble up within her.

Arya grinned, and began to giggle with her.

A slow clapping sound rang through the courtyard, and Sansa looked up, startled.

Jaime Lannister stood on the balcony. Sansa wondered how long he'd been watching. Beside him stood Brienne of Tarth, who looked genuinely proud, but gave Jaime a dirty look.

"Well done, Sansa," he called. "You're improving."

Sansa scowled. She was never sure if the man mocked her or not.

She exchanged a look with Arya.

"We're done for the day," said her sister, who eyed Jaime warily.

"Already?" she said, disappointed. "But I was just starting to get good."

Arya laughed.

"'Good' is a word I would use loosely."

Sansa gave her sister a dirty look.

"Train with Brienne," said Arya, gesturing at the large woman, who was making her way down the steps. "I'm sure she'd love to teach you something different."

"But I've never..." said Sansa, _I've never trained with anyone but you._

"I need to prepare my men for the raid," said Arya. "You'll be fine."

Sansa's stomach twisted and she felt her throat tighten. _Every time_ her sister went on a raid she would worry, anxiously awaiting her return, sick with anxiety swirling in her like a poison.

"Be careful," said Sansa worriedly as Arya turned away.

Arya turned back and gave her sister a gentle look.

"Don't worry about me," she said, winking. "I'm always careful."

Sansa's eyebrows furrowed.

"Nevertheless-" she started.

"I'll be _fine,_ " the girl reassured her, walking to her and placing a hand on her arm. She stood on her tiptoes to give the taller girl a reassuring hug. "Everything will be alright, I promise. I'll come see you first thing when I get back."

"I'll be waiting right here," said Sansa, hugging her sister tight.

If she lost her, she'd lose everything.

"You always are," said Arya with a chuckle, letting her sister go. She gave her a reassuring smile, and turned and walked away.

"Oh!" she called out. "I almost forgot."

And she threw her wooden sword at Sansa, who fumbled to catch it when she already had the other in her hands. Arya grinned, bowed sarcastically, and then disappeared into the shadows. Sansa felt her heart twist with worry.

"I must say," said a voice behind her. She turned to be face-to-face with Jaime Lannister. "I'm saddened I don't engender this amount of concern whenever _I_ go on raids."

Sansa pursed her lips.

Brienne glared at Jaime.

"Maybe you would if you earned it," said Sansa. A weak clapback, at best.

"You can do better than that," said Jaime, knowing it every bit as much as she did.

"Oh, leave her alone, you idiot," said Brienne, glaring at Jaime.

The two were unusually close, Sansa had noticed. Since they'd both returned to Winterfell they'd barely parted. She'd seen them once, soon after they'd arrived, sitting under the Weirwood tree, huddled close together and talking quietly. Jaime had seemed distraught, and Brienne had appeared to be comforting him. When Sansa had approached, they'd quickly jumped apart and Jaime had turned away from her. Brienne had nodded at her.

 _"Forgive us, mi'lady, we will give you some privacy,"_ she'd said.

They'd quickly left, leaving Sansa wondering...

"Did I hear right?" said the woman now. "Arya wanted me to train with you?"

Sansa swallowed hard.

Arya was quick, and she'd known she'd beaten Brienne, had watched it with her own two eyes, but she was not afraid of her sister. She didn't fear Brienne, either, but then again, she'd never been faced on the wrong end of the woman's sword.

"I wouldn't want to bother you with-"

"Oh come now," said Jaime. "Don't insult the Lady Brienne, she's a pleasure to spar with. I'm sure she'll..." Jaime chuckled. " _Go easy_ on you."

Sansa glared. Brienne narrowed her eyes at the insufferable man.

"Easier than I would go on you," said Brienne. "You prat."

Jaime threw his hands up in surrender and backed away.

"Be my guest, then, ladies," he said, leaning on a haybale at some distance.

Sansa eyed the woman warily.

"Don't worry, my lady," said Brienne. "I will not hurt you."

Sansa handed out Arya's wooden sword. Brienne nodded, taking it.

"I'm not quite ready for steel, I think," said Sansa.

Brienne held the wooden stick as naturally as Arya, while Sansa held hers awkwardly. She was getting used to it, but it was such an unnatural, builky, heavy thing for her to carry.

Sansa gripped it tightly in both hands, and raised it at Brienne, who did the same.

The girls circled one another.

Sansa was grateful that she'd ditched her dresses, instead favoring a split style like Daenerys and Missandei wore, with pants and steady boots underneath. She'd quickly learned her first day of training that one cannot fight well in a dress.

Sansa eyed her as they sized each other up.

 _"My mouth said left, my eyes said right. The truth is in the eyes, Sansa,"_ Arya had told her after Sansa had yelled at her for lying and swinging the opposite way she had said.

 _"Did your dancing master teach you all of this?"_ Sansa had asked her.

 _"Not all of it. But the fundamentals, yes."_

Brienne faked a move at her left, and Sansa flinched, raising her stick in defense. The woman was _strong._ Ten times stronger than Ayra, at least. Where Arya had agility, Brienne had brute force. Sansa would have to be quick to even have a hope of beating her.

 _She'll go the other way next time,_ thought Sansa, looking at her trusted friend's face, _go the opposite direction._

And indeed, Brienne glanced to the Sansa's right, and the wooden sword arched down. Sansa twirled the opposite way, wool and fur swirling around her legs, and aimed for the woman's side, but she was too slow, and was met with wood. She pushed away, and Brienne backed off.

"Clever," she said. "Arya's teaching you well."

"She's trying to, anyway," said Sansa.

Brienne raised her sword. Sansa took a jab at her knees, fumbled, and Brienne easily swiped her sword away.

"Clumsy," she said. "But it took me nearly a year when I was much younger than you to learn to be agile. You'll get there." 

"I haven't time for a _year_ to learn!"

Brienne softened.

"No, you don't," she said.

Sansa swung again with a new fierceness. Brinne blocked, but she swung again, and again, and on and on, the faces and fear of the White Walkers burning in her mind, until the sun was high in the sky, and, panting, both girls decided to stop.

Brienne was frowning, and Sansa was disappointed in herself.

She hadn't managed to land a single hit, not one, and she was covered in bruises.

Jaime walked up to them. He was frowning, too.

"Have you considered... _not_ doing swordplay?"

Sansa glared at him.

"I wouldn't be doing this if I weren't sure the _dead_ could march up to that gate any day now!" she said angrily. She was exhausted now, and not in any mood for Jaime Lannister's needling.

Jaime frowned.

"I only meant...perhaps a different weapon?"

Sansa was caught off guard. She frowned at him.

"Here," he said, and drew them towards the racks of weapons that sat underneath the balconey. The smith was hard at work a few feet away, and a pile of dragonglass lay at his feet.

There were swords, dozens of them, and maces and hammers and spears, and a dozen other types of weapons that Sansa didn't know the names of. She felt a bit intimidated. She didn't think she could have lifted half of them.

Jaime spent a moment purusing them, chin in his left hand, his golden one dangling at his side. Sansa stared at it. She'd never seen it this close before.

It disturbed her, just a bit. Like Tyrion had disturbed her when she'd first laid eyes on him, on the Hound, who was so big and terrifying to her. She couldn't imagine losing her right hand. She would never sew or write or embroider ever again. She closed her hand in a fist, running her thumb over her fingers.

"Ah," said Jaime, and from the depths he pulled out a simple bow. "Yes."

He handled it easily, though he would never be able to shoot it, he could easily hold it in one hand. He handed it to her.

It was heavy, but not too much so. The wood was smooth and the leather was supple. The bowstring twanged as she plucked at it, like she was strumming a one-stringed harp.

"Arrows?" asked Jaime of the smith, who gestured to the wall. There Jaime pulled off a dozen headless arrows and a quiver meant to go around the waist. He loaded it, and handed it to Sansa, who held it awkwardly in her hand.

"I've never shot a bow before," said Sansa. "I wouldn't know how."

"Not to worry," said Jaime, who led them over to the range. Two men that wore Lannister colors and a small woman that wore Bear Island colors were already practicing. "Everything is teachable. Go on, stand there." 

Sansa stood where he directed. The target seemed a long way away.

"You're not going to hit many targets with your quiver in your hand," he said sardonically.

Sansa blushed, swung her bow over her shoulder like she'd seen men do before, and tied the belt around her waist. It was a comfortable weight at her side, but she worried she would spill her arrows should she bend over.

"No, not like that," he said, and moved to fix it, but he fumbled with the belt with his golden hand. Brienne took pity on them and stepped forward to fix it properly so that the arrows hung snug in their quiver at her side.

"Thank you," said Jaime, and Brienne placed a hand on his arm before backing away to watch. Jaime stood close in front of her.

"Stand side face. Feet apart. Like that. Yes. Hold your bow firmly but loosely in your hand. yes, just like that. Perfect. Nock an arrow. No, no no," he said in frustration when the arrow fell away. "Angle your bow slightly, so it doesn't fall. Hold it with your pointer finger while you get settled."

Sansa did as she was told, though she felt uncomfortable with him standing so close.

"You're gripping the string too much. Hold it with just the tips of your fingers, like this."

Jaime awkwardly touched the string above her hand with his left hand, but only the tips of his fingers touched the string. Sansa loosened her grip, imitating him, and the arrow nestled gently between her fingers, the feathers tickling at her skin.

"Well done," said Jaime. "Now pull back, keep your elbow bent, and aim for the target. When you're ready, take a deep breath, let it out slowly, slide your fingers off the string, and release."

Sansa tok a deep breath. Her heart was pounding with nervousness. She felt like he would make fun of her if she missed, so she didn't want to miss.

She aimed for the blue center. She hesitated. It was hard to hold, though, and her muscles were already straining. She flicked her fingers off in her nervousness and her eyes flickered shut out of instinct. She felt the bowstring bruise her arm with a sharp _thwack!_ and recoiled in pain. She opened her eyes to realise she'd missed spectaularly, the arrow not even hitting the target but had skidded off the ground.

"Try keeping your _eyes open_ next time, dear," he said, amusement dripping from his voice. Sansa let out a huff.

"Remember to keep your left elbow bent slightly, too," said Brienne, who watched anxiously.

"Fine!" said Sansa shortly. She nocked another arrow, and aimed it at the target angrily. She kept her eyes open and her elbow bent. This time, the arrow hit the board, but only at the very bottom, missing the center.

"That's alright, it's better," said Jaime, and she was surprised by the kindness and patience in his voice. "Once more."

Sansa nocked another arrow.

"This time aim slightly above where you want your arrow to hit. Remember, it will arch down."

"Oh," said Sansa, suddenly understanding why she'd missed so spectacularly.

"Try again."

Sansa aimed, this time for two rings above the center.

She fired, and gasped as it hit dead center.

"Well _done,_ " said Jaime. "I'm impressed. When I was a boy it took me _days_ to hit center. Try again."

Sansa aimed again, exactly for where she had before. Released. There was a sudden gust of wind, and it hit wildly to the left.

"Damn," she cursed.

"Always account for wind," said Jaime. "Once more."

Sansa aimed again, this time feeling the breeze on her face, and aiming above and to the right.

 _Thunk!_

Dead center.

"Again!"

Sansa did it again. And again, and again, until her quiver was empty.

"I think we've found a natural talent," said Jaime proudly. "Well done, Sansa."

Every arrow but her first and second sat within the second and center ring. Sansa beamed with pride.

Sansa let herself smile broadly as she went to fetch her arrows. She was shaking all over with excitement.

She repeated the process five times, and by the time she was done, each arrow hit dead center.

And more importantly, she was not frustrated but _happy_ by the end of it. She was having _fun._

Sansa had finally found something she _enjoyed,_ that made her feel powerful and strong. With _this,_ she could defeat a hundred White Walkers. She could kill any man that tried to touch her.

As she went to fetch her arrows a sixth time, movement caught her eye, and she looked up in the balcony. She gasped, because for a second she could have sworn she'd seen father there, but no, it was just Jon, obscured by shadows, watching, just as father had always done with the boys. She was shocked to see him out and about, but overjoyed.

Sansa's heart warmed to see him. Perhaps he had finally lifted out of his sadness. It was good to see him out of his room. Beside him stood Daenerys, would looked just as beautiful as ever as she watched, smiling. They looked magnificent standing next to each other, like King and Queen.

Jon spotted her eyeing him, and he grinned, and started to clap. Just as father would have done. Sansa's heart began to ache. She missed him. She knew he would have been proud of her at that moment.

"Well done!" he called, and Sansa beamed at him. "This is a sight I never expected to see," he said with a chuckle. "My sister who always prefered to sit indoors and sew, out here with the toughest of the men, learning how to fight. Well done."

He appeared to have his smile back, and it warmed Sansa's heart.

"How long have you been there?"

Jon grinned.

"Since Arya left."

Sansa was surprised she hadn't noticed him, but then, she hadn't really been looking.

"Go on, keep practicing," he called.

So Sansa did, until her arms and back ached and her arrows and the target's cloth had been torn to shreds. And Jon stood there the whole time, watching, just as father would have. It gave her an ache in her heart for her father.

When it finally became to dark to see, Jon joined them on gorund level. Tyrion had joined them at some point, and now he walked besides Daenerys. He smiled at his brother, who grinned back. Jon nodded his head at Jaime, but the look he gave him was much less welcoming than Tyrion's.

"It's good to see you out and about, _your Grace,"_ said Jaime mockingly. "We'd thought you'd decided to quit being King and had decided to stay indoors shivering with the cooks and the wenches."

Daenerys stepped in front of Jon protectively, and her eyes blazed with fire.

"Insult him again, I dare you," she said. Fire blazed in her eyes. Sansa would not have liked to see what would have happened.

Jaime looked at Tyrion, who shook his head warningly.

Jaime backed down, taking a step away from the Queen

"My apologies," he said. Then he looked at Jon, whose jaw was tight. And it seemed Ser Jaime could not hold his tongue. "Though, were it _me_ being insulted, _I_ would find it difficult to hide behind the skirts of women."

Jon stepped forward angrily, got right up in the man's face. Stared unflichingly, mouth curled in a snarl.

Jaime eyed Jon up and down, eyes mocking. His face was a mask of contempt, but Sansa saw a hint of fear behind his narrowed eyes. "Though apparantly... it's not so hard for you. You have had a month's worth of practice."

Before Sansa could even blink, Jon had grabbed the older man round the throat and slammed him against a nearby pole. Jaime's eyes widened, though he didn't seem to be afraid. Jon did not strangle him, and Ser Jaime could still breathe, but Jon did hold him firm. Tyrion took a step forward, as did Brienne, but both backed down quickly, thinking better of it.

"My father would be alive right now if it weren't for your nephew...or was it _son_?" said Jon quietly, seriously. Sansa heard the anger behind his voice. Jaime's face twisted in a rage at the taunt. "My _brother_ would be alive right now if it weren't for your father. It would be _Bran,_ here, practicing shooting, too, _if it weren't for you._ "

 _He's right,_ thought Sansa, and suddenly she wanted to strangle Jaime, too, and was disgusted she'd let the man near her all day.

Jaime closed his eyes tightly, swallowing with difficulty. Was that... _shame..._ that Sansa saw on the man's face?

Bran had told her and Arya, of course, who is was who had pushed him out the window all those years ago, when he told them of Littlefinger. She had not told Jon, had not seen him in a month, so she only could have assumed Arya or perhaps Bran himself had told him while they shared their vision.

Sansa was suddenly afraid.

Jaime looked down.

"I know," he said softly, voice hoarse.

Jon hit him against the wall. Sansa knew he was hoping for Jaime to taunt him again. He did not expect remorse, and Sansa knew he was angry about it. Jaime looked into Jon's eyes.

"I know," he said. "But I've faced my demons, _boy,_ have you?"

Jon got right up in his face, snarled.

"Have you now?" he said softly. "Because you've never even visited Bran. Haven't seen him since you pushed him of the North Tower. Oh...and you haven't faced _me_ yet."

Jaime's lip twitched, face pulling up in a snarl.

"Big talk, boy," said Jaime. "Why don't you fight me like a man."

"Call me boy again," said Jon, softly, dangerously. "I've been through more hell than you could ever even imagine, Kingslayer. I've been training since we last met. Been through a lot of battles. And you've only got one hand. So don't test me."

Jaime threw up his hands, bowing down. Jon released him roughly. Jaime looked aside, shoulders tense.

Daenerys stepped forward, looking at Jaime with narrowed eyes.

The two had never set foot in the same room, as far as Sansa knew, and she had known, but had never really thought about it, not until now, but ...

"You killed my father," said Daenerys, voice calm, but dangerous.

Jaime looked at her. Sansa saw the demons _really_ set into his eyes then. He looked a long way away, and all he could see was the dragon queen.

A muscle in Jaime's jaw worked hard.

"I did," he said quietly. Daenerys took another step forward, and Jaime stood tall, proud. He seemed as if he had known this was coming for a very long time.

"You tried to kill me," she said.

Jaime's face twitched, eyes narrowed.

"But we were enemies on the battlefield," said Daenerys, voice no less dangerous, "and you were sworn to a different Queen. That I can forgive, though I will never forget it."

She took another step forward. Daenerys was calm, too calm. Jaime stood his ground.

"But what I can't ever forget, or forgive, is how you were sworn to protect my father, your _King,_ and you _betrayed_ him. You _broke_ every oath you ever swore to him."

Jaime held his chin high. His eyes were dark and hateful as he looked at the Dragon Queen.

"And I would do it again. Without hesitation."

Daenerys raised her eyebrows.

"No offense, your Grace," said Jaime, a slip of the sarcasm returning. "But you weren't there. You never even _knew_ your father. He was dead before you were born."

Jaime took a step forward. They were only a short foot apart. Jon stepped forward angrily, prepared to intervene. Sansa stood in shock. Tyrion had one hand up, as if he could reach out and stop the scene before him.

" _I was there,_ " said Jaime, and ghosts haunted at his eyes, and his voice was terse. "And I _did_ know your father. I spent every waking moment with him. You didn't have to watch as proud King Aerys Targaryen descended into _madness._ You didn't have to watch as he slaughtered people who didn't deserve to be slaughtered. You didn't have to protect his sister-wife from him. You didn't have to send his wife away to Dragonstone with her son so he wouldn't _hurt them_ as she feared he might. Lucky for her, she happened to escape Robert as well, and gave birth to a daughter there eight months later."

Dany's lips parted in shock.

"That's right," said Jaime, eyes stoney and cold. "You'd never have even been _born_ if I hadn't intervened."

But Jaime didn't stop there.

"You didn't have to listen to him, every day, it got worse and worse. ' _Burn them all,'_ he kept saying, always. I can still hear it, clear as day. It's more real than you are standing before me, looking at me with _his_ eyes, _judging me_ guilty when you don't even know _why_. ' _Burn them all,'_ he said, _'Burn them all.'_ Right up to the moment I stabbed my sword in his back and he kept saying it, _'Burn them all.'_ So I slit his throat, and he never said another word. He could never hurt anyone else ever again."

Daenerys stood strong, eyes wide and fiery.

Jaime shoved his face inches from hers.

"Would you have stood by, and let him give the order to burn all of King's Landing with Wildfire? Would you have? Hm? Considering _you_ could have done it already, but haven't, I'm going to guess you wouldn't've. I saved one million lives that day at the cost of one." He held up a single finger to the Queen's face. " _That_ was a very good bargain. One I would take again, no matter the cost."

Sansa had never seen Daenerys look so angry. It frightened her.

"So if you're going to kill me or have me executed, just do it already," spat Jaime. "Burn me like your father would've, and people will call you the Mad Queen for the rest of your days."

Daenerys looked at Jaime coldly.

There was a moment, half a heartbeat, where Sansa thought Daenerys would have just let it all slide, would have just let it all go, but then...

"Greyworm," she said softly, and the man emerged from the shadows of his post, where he had been watching protectively. She looked at Jaime unflichingly. "Seize him."

There was a flurry of movement, and Sansa's jaw dropped. Jaime's eyes widened in fear, and she heard gasps echo around her. Greyworm and another unsullied seized Jaime, who struggled, and forced him to his knees in the muddy snow, knives an inch from his throat. Even Jon looked shocked.

Brienne stepped forward in a panic. Tyrion, too, had jumped forward towards his brother.

"No!" said Brienne, voice desperate. "Please, your Grace, don't. He's not-"

"I know what he is," said Daenerys angrily, "He's a vile man, a pathetic man who thinks his sharp tongue and clever words will protect him from people thinking he cares."

"I _don't_ care," said Jaime obstinately.

"You _do_ care," said Daenerys sharply. "You care so much you feel as if you will bleed to death from the pain of it."

Jaime looked at her with a curled lip.

"Stop it, just get it over with already, just _KILL ME!_ "

Tyrion stepped forward, edging his way between the Queen and his brother desperately, hands out in a gesture of peace towards Daenerys, his face twisted in a barely-contained panic.

"Please, Daenerys," he begged quietly. "Don't do this. Please don't do this."

Daenerys ignored him.

"Stand aside," she said.

Tyrion fell to his knees, begging, hands clasped tightly together.

"Please, Daenerys, _please_ don't do this...please don't do this to me, I beg you. Do _not_ test my loyalty like this, I can't...he's my _brother..._ he's the _only family_ I have left that I _love,_ please..."

"You _will,_ stand aside, Tyrion," she said forcefully.

Tears were edging from his mismatched eyes. He looked like he was being torn apart.

"Daenerys, I have stood beside you, I have counseled you, I have _trusted you_ with...everything that I am. _I believed_ in you," his face was twisted in agony. "I stood aside when you burned the Tarlys against my better judgement, I won't stand aside now. Please, just for once, _listen to me."_

"Tyrion," said Jaime gently. Tyrion stood and spun around. The brothers looked at each other. Tyrion shook his head rapidly.

"Please, Jaime, _don't._ I won't let you-"

"Tyrion," he said again, gently, and his eyes were strong for his brother. He reminded Sansa of Jon in that moment, or Robb, being the big brother, protective of his younger siblings. "It's alright."

Tyrion lifted his hands in the air towards his brother, then balled them into fists.

"Jaime, _no..."_

"It's alright, Tyrion," he said gently, again. "You've got more to do here, and this is no less than I deserve. I've known this was coming for a long time."

Tyrion's face balled up. He walked forward and grabbed Jaime by his collar.

"What about your child," he said angrily, quietly, so only Jaime could hear him, though from where Sansa was standing she could still hear him. She wondered if anyone else could. Tyrion was shaking him. "You can't-"

"Tyrion!" he said angrily, swiftly. His eyes looked around at everyone present, unsure of who had heard. Closed them quickly, then looked back at his brother, face serious, and tight. "It'll have you. Save it from her. Save it from Cersei. If you can."

Tyrion's head drew to the left, taking adeep, heavy, shaking breath, and his fists balled tightly on Jaime's collar. Then he shared a long look with Jaime, and placed a hand on his cheek, and turned away roughly, leaving Jaime open to Daenerys. Jaime looked up at her now, ready.

Sansa's heart was racing. Had everyone heard what she had, or was it just her? Was Cersei-?

"I know what my father was," said Daenerys, continuing, looking down at the man who had killed him. She appeared unaffected by the scene that they had just witnessed. Tyrion walked away, face in his hands. "I know what he would have done, I know what he _did._ " Daenerys shook her head, drew a deep breath. "He deserved to die."

Jaime's brows furrowed in confusion.

Tyrion's shoulders were stiff, and he couldn't look at the scene. Sansa had an overwhelming desire to go to him, though she resisted, confused by the urge. Just because she had been married to the man didn't mean she owed him anything. And he was still a Lannister, and had stood by while everything that had happened to her in King's Landing...happened.

"I am grateful to you for saving those million lives, and I would only hope...that should I ever fall as deep as him, that someone would stop me as you did."

Jaime's mouth fell open wide and he blinked at Daenerys. Tyrion spun around and stared. Daenerys' face grew gentle.

"You do not die today, Ser Jaime Lannister."

Jamie was, for once in his life, speechless.

"Release him."

The Unsullied let go of him, but he did not stand, only kneeled where he was in shock.

Tyrion was staring at Daenerys, breathing heavily, confused. She turned to look at him. Her face was unreadable.

"Was this..." his features began to pull into lines of disgust. "Was this a _test?"_

"No," said Daenerys firmly. Tyrion scowled in confusion and anger. Daenerys looked at him, face falling into lines of worry. "But if it had, you would have passed. Thank you for trying to stop me."

Tyrion's features twisted into an angry scowl, and he stood there, breathing heavily. Angrily.

"How _dare you_ ," he said, infuriated. "How _dare you play with my brother's life like that._ "

Daenerys looked confused.

"I have every right-" 

" _No,_ " said Tyrion. He shook his head, and turned angrily, knocking a stand full of arrows aside. They scattered into the mud like blood. He stalked away angrily. Daenerys sighed heavily, and she looked older than her age at that moment...years older.

"Guess I'm going to have to pay for that later," she said to herself.

Jaime stood, hesitant.

"Please, your Grace," he said softly. "If I may...don't judge him too harshly. He was only trying to protect his family. I'm sure you would have done the same."

Daenerys looked at him gently. Then looked at Jon. The two shared a long, knowing look. Sansa suddenly felt like she was intruding.

"I know," she said softly. She heaved a heavy sigh, and then looked at Greyworm questioningly. Greyworm looked at Jaime, eyeing him up and down, almost as if he was appraising him, then back to Daenerys. He gave a short, quick nod. Daenerys nodded back, then looked at Jaime.

"I would be honored, Jaime Lannister," she said, and her voice was filled with a Queenly authority now. "If you would take your rightful place on my Queensguard."

Jaime looked up at her, shocked. His mouth moved, but no words came out. He looked taken aback.

"You would...trust _me_ with your life?" he said slowly. "After everything I've done?"

"Daenerys," said Jon from behind her, stepping forward. His tone of voice was of a warning one, "I don't think this is a good i-"

Daenerys gave Jon a very sharp look over her shoulder. He withdrew, but a muscle in his jaw worked angrily.

"I'm...honored, your Grace," said Jaime, who still seemed a little confused. He looked at her like he saw a whole different person than he had five minutes ago, but then he looked down, face twisted in pain. "But I...I can't."

Daenerys drew herself up then, face hard, eyebrows raised.

"You would dare refuse a Queen?"

Jaime smiled, a humorless, painful grin.

"I've already killed one monach, lied to a second, neglected a third-" his voice waivered in pain. He heaved a great sigh. Sansa wondered if he was referring to Joffery or Tommen. Perhaps it was both. "-and walked away a forth when she needed me the most. What would one refusal to another be, compared to all that?"

Daenerys softened, looking at him for a long moment.

"The spot will always be there for you," she said gently. "Should the time come for you to take it without betraying your sister."

Jaime looked at her hard. Brows burrowed deep. There was a newfound respect in his eyes.

"Thank you, your Grace."

Daenerys nodded at him.

Sansa stood in shock as attention turned elsewhere and the courtyard began to clear.

Jon came up to her, then, and grabbed her on the arm. She looked up at him, slightly dazed.

"I need to speak with you. Alone."

Sansa nodded.

She thought she knew what it was about.

 **A/N:** _that was...unexpected. But I realized I couldn't have Jon OR Daenerys see Jaime without having a confrontation. Also, I love the image of Sansa with a bow. It seemed way more right than a sword for some reason, and I knew she'd have to learn to fight. If Lyanna Mormont say girls shouldn't be knitting by the fire when the men march off to fight the dead, then by god every woman in the known world will do just that. You don't fuck with Lyanna Mormont._

 _Poor Jaime Lannister. It's really fucking with him what he did to Cersei, even though he knows he did the right thing. At least he's got Brienne now ;D_

 _And yeah, I seriously considered killing him off there, but he got a reprieve, considering that would probably REALLY turned Tyrion away from Daenerys and destroyed whatever friendship they have left._

 _Sansa KNOWS SHIT NOW. UH HUH THAT HAPPENED._

 _Hope you caught my Harry Potter quote :D_


	16. Burn Them All

**BRAN**

 _"Burn them all."_

 _"Burn them all."_

 _"Burn them all."_

 _"Burn them all."_

 _"BURN THEM ALL."  
_ _ **"BURN THEM ALL."**_

 _Bran reeled. He couldn't see, couldn't breathe. Stuck, Stuck, Stuck._

 _"Help," he cried out, seeing a flash of black hair. "Help me!"_

 _But his brother...cousin...didn't hear him...couldn't reach him..._

 _He felt like he was falling, constantly, constantly falling._

 _"HODOR!"_

 _"BURN THEM ALL!"_

 _He turned, and he was face to face with a grisled face with white-blonde hair, mad eyes gleaming._

 _"BURN THEM ALL!"_

 _He turned again and he saw Hodor fall to the ground in the Winterfell courtyard, but also saw him being torn to death, holding the door..._

 _He ran, ran as far as he could._

 _"BRAN!"_

 _Meera was saying goodbye, and he only sat there, cold, and unfeeling..._

 _There was snow. Snow everywhere. It surrounded him. It was so cold. So cold._

 _He turned, trying to run the opposite direction..._

 _But he stopped dead, blue eyes bored into his._

 _"You are not ready," the Night King's mouth said, but it was the old man's voice he heard. "You are not ready to become the Three Eyed Raven."_

 _It was a thousand years ago, but it was also only twenty, or was it the future he saw? He stood in the Red Keep behind the Iron Throne. He stood where he knew Winterfell to be, but it was not there, and he stood at an empty, gaping, mawing open weakness in the landscape where a Wall should be, where a hundred thousand dead stood before him, waiting, staring, and there he was...he was always there, the Night King...atop his Dragon..._

 _"We have to burn them!" he found himself shouting. At who, he did not know. "We have to burn all of them! It's the only way!"_

 _Perhaps Jon would hear him, or Arya, or Sansa, or even the Dragon Queen...yes, the Dragon Queen, she was their only hope...she could stop it..._

 _He heard Dragons cry, heard ravens caw. He didn't know who he was screaming at, only he knew he had no fire..._

 _"BURN THEM ALL!"_

 _They rushed at him, the dead, they were screaming with their decaying mouths, gnawing at him, crawling up him, twisting his neck..._

 _He spun as he fell, deep, deep, deep..._

 _"BURN THEM ALL!" he shouted..."PLEASE BURN THEM!"_

 _Was it his voice screaming, or was it Aerys?_

 _He didn't know, didn't know anymore..._

 _"JON HELP," he shouted, screaming. "HELP ME PLEASE."  
_

Ice piled up around him, men moved, moved so fast, and huge boulders of ice piled around him...

 _The Night King stared greedily at him..._

 _Fear gulped at his heart..._

 _"BURN THEM ALL, PLEASE!"_

He landed, hard, at Castle Black, with a startling case of vertigo. There were men all around him, hard men. They were all shouting at one another, and he clutched at the table in front of him. A man next to him looked around, and gave him a disgruntled look.

"You alright there, Brandon?" he said, voice rough.

Bran stared at him.

"You can see me?" he said, his voice was raspy, deep. His hand flew to his face and was met with a thick black beard.

The man laughed at him.

"You've lost it man," said the man. "Guys, Brandon's gone loony again," he called, and there was a roar of laughter around the room.

Bran steeled himself, trying to get his bearings.

"What you seeing this time, Brandon? Mad Kings? Bastards? Dragons? Three-Eyed Ravens? What is it now, man?"

"We have to build a wall," he found himself saying.

There was another roar of laughter.

"Man thinks a wall will keep those bastards out. Have you not seen them climb? Good Gods, man, there's nothing that's going to stop them."

"Not an ordinary wall. A giant wall. A wall made of ice. Tall enough to not be able to climb. Tall enough to keep the Others out."

Silence met the statement. Then there was a slow rumble of muttering.

"A well-guarded, well-manned wall. Keep the monsters in the North, and the men in the south. It's the only way to stop them."

The muttering increased.

"You may be mad, boy, but you've got a point."

"We'll use enchantments to keep them out...keep them from going any f-"

 _He spun, suddenly, swiftly, and he was flying, high above. The Wall lay before him. He flapped his wings. They were big and strong. He was faster, now, faster than he had ever been before._

 _He roared._

 _It was a vile sound and hurt his ears._

 _He wanted his mother, and his brothers. Bran could feel the ache deep in his heart. And he was cold, too cold. All of his fire had died. What was a dragon without fire? He missed his mother, wanted to curl up in her arms and have her pet his scaly head and tell him everything would be fine...But he couldn't breath fire. His fire had died._

 _Or had it?_

 _He heard a screeching wail, and he tried to resist, but it welled up deep inside him, and spilled from his mouth, hot, hot, so hot it was icy, and blue, and it hit the wall with a jarring crash. He saw the ice melt, saw it fall...heard the screams of men._

 _He hated it. He wanted them to stop. But he wanted them to join him...yes, that would make them stop...they wouldn't care enough to scream then...there would only be forward..._

 _He roared again, screeching and wailing in pain. His body was decaying, he could feel it...he had to resist, but he couldn't. The fire burned hot as it was released from him again without his control._

 _"Burn it all..." he thought, feeling it all in his icy heart, and suddenly he wasn't the one flying, he was the one on top of the flyer, and it was wrong, so wrong, he wanted to scream and claw at himself..wanted to die..._

 _"Burn it..." it was a hissy, icy, terrifying voice, it did not speak the common tounge, but some Other language, known only to the dead..._

 _Was he dead?_

 _Did his icy heart beat?_

 _The wall melted before him, and he tried to escape..._

 _He wanted to go home..._

"And how do we go home, sweet sister? We go home with an Army."

 _An army of the dead, yes, that was the way, then he could go home..._

No, _the reational part of his brain screamed._ No! You'll kill everyone!

 _He was falling, tearing at himself, he had to escape...had to warn them, had to build..._

"Bigger! Taller! More enchantments!" he called. "They can't get through!"

Ice and stone and earth piled in front of him, but it wasn't enough, it wasn't enough...giants moved, piling ice on top of stone but it wasn't enough...

"Bigger! Taller! More!"

 _Bran ran, and they were right on his heels. They were coming through! They were on the Kingsroad! And they tore at him, tore at his heels._

 _They needed more...more, more. The wall wasn't enough..._

"We need a castle," he said.

"Brandon, the Wall's enough, haven't we-" 

"No!" he slammed his fist on the table angrily. "We have to protect the realm! They will get through the Wall!"

"Brandon, come now. We put enough enchantments on that thing to be sure...if they ever got through, they'd die. Surely. Don't be ridiculous."

Bran ignored them. They knew nothing.

"We need a defensible castle, one that will serve as a base should they ever get through. We have to stop them."

 _They were all around him, crawling at him, and he could swear he was already dead..._

 _He jumped, trying to throw them off._

"We have to burn them all!"

Razor-sharp blades poked at him, everywhere. He shifted uncomfortably. He hated the damn thing, cursing his ancestor.

"Burn them all!"

He called to his servants, living, breathing. They would not be for much longer if they didn't listen. The spider crawled next to him, he skittered across his skin. Bran flinched away from him.

"Burn _who,_ my King?"

"BURN THEM _ALL_!" he spat in his face. Why didn't they understand?

How could they not see? _They were crawling in through the doors. They were in the city. They were everywhere. Screaming. Rotting. Disgusting, foul things. He saw them everywhere. There was one tearing at Varys' bald head right now..._

 _ **"BURN THEM! BURN THEM! BURN THEM ALL!"**_

 _He heard screaming...was it his or his daughter's? He didn't have a daughter..._

 _Rhaella lay before him in a pool of blood, was it Rhaella? She looked different. Younger. Her blonde hair was everywhere, and her eyes were violet, like his, not indigo like his sister's..._

 _She screamed out in pain, clutching at her swollen belly. Blood pooled between her legs, and he saw the crown of a baby's silver-blonde head...He heard sounds of fighting beyond the doors, and swung them open to see._

 _"NO DON'T YOU'LL LET THEM IN!" she screamed, staring at him in horror._

 _They were everywhere, they crawled at him, they ran at him with their hoarse cries. Men stood all around the door fighting them off, and he heard his baby girl screaming in pain...Daenerys, he thought wildly, though he knew no Daenerys. His daughter...his heir..._

 _"FATHER!" she cried, screaming._

 _He had to burn them, had to protect her...the only way to get rid of them was to burn them._

 _"BURN THEM!" he cried, screaming. "BURN THEM ALL!"_

 _He grabbed a torch and threw it at them, and they were set ablaze...his hand burned from the fire...but he was the blood of the dragon, he couldn't burn..._

 _People were screaming...he saw men dying...he didn't know who...Daenerys was crying. He heard a baby wailing. Saw Dothraki fall and die and rise again..._

 _"NO! BLOOD OF MY BLOOD!"  
_

 _Dothraki ..."WHORE!" he screamed, and he was on his throne again. How dare his heir be a Dothraki whore? He was yelling, screaming at a child..._

 _"What?" said the small, weak woman, she smelled like piss and wine and like barbarian filth. Just like the babe he smelled in her arms._

 _"That is no grandson of mine. That is no true Targaryen. He smells Dornish, get him away from me."_

 _He was swirling, falling, falling, they were pounding at the gates, all seven of them, crawling up the walls, they were everywhere, if they didn't do something, they would all become them._

 _"BURN THEM ALL!" he screamed._

 _Nobody listened..._

 _He swirled again, dizzy, dizzy, dizzy, and he fell..._

"Brandon!" _he heard his mother scream._ "How many times have I told you? _No CLIMBING!"_

 _But he had to climb, had to climb all the way, up, up, up, beacuse they were chasing him. His hand slipped on the ice and he barely caught himself. It was a long way down. It was longer still a long way up. He had to keep going._

 _The dead's screaming rung in his ears._

 _"Burn it all..." said the hissy voice. And he saw more of the wall fall, the wall he'd worked so hard to build..._

 _He had to get to his castle, he needed Winterfell, NOW, because they were coming._

"They're coming, they're coming..."

"Brandon, they're all dead, they're not coming..."

"They will, they're coming, faster, faster, build faster...stronger walls..."

"If you want stronger walls we can't build them fast."

"Fine, fine... just build the damn things, before they're all over us again..."

 _He was swirling, and suddenly he was in the crypts._

His own face stared back at him from a statue.

"It doesn't look like him," said an old man. Bran turned, but he never saw his face, and he was falling again...

 _He was on an island in the middle of the lake surrounded by seven Weirwoods. He heard them whispering, the children of the forest. They were all staring at him._

 _"You are the one," they whispered to him. "You are the one that will destroy the world."_

 _"No," he cried. "No, I don't want to!"_

 _They whispered at him, and suddenly it was not summer but Winter, and there was snow and the dead everywhere. He surveyed the frozen lake surrounding him impassively, unfeeling. Where were they? Where were the children? They could set this right, they must, they would..._

 _It had been so long..._

Bran swirled, and he was choking. He couldn't breathe. There was fire and ash. He stood in the throne room of King's Landing. The dead stood all around him, but he was the only one who could see them. The living looked at him with pity in their eyes.

"DON'T YOU SEE THEM?" he shouted hopelessly. "They're everywhere! We have to burn them!"

"Burn who, your Grace?

"ALL OF _THEM_!" he thundered, gesturing around him at the dead only he could see. "BURN THEM _ALL_!"

He swirled, and swirled, and swirled, and he'd been stuck for hours, saying it over and over and over again because they wouldn't listen, they wouldn't listen, and always those blue eyes surrounded him. He cowered in fear and the base of his throne, the swords tearing at his bloody palms.

" _Burn them all,"_ he begged, crying. _"Burn them all, burn them all, burn them all burn them all burn them all burn them all..."_

And he stood, standing in the middle of the hall, a thousand dead staring at him with those empty blue eyes.

He found a living...the spider...it was the spider...the spider would do his bidding...

"My King, they're in the city, they've come for us, what should we do?"

He stared with wild eyes. How could they ask him that? They knew. If they were everywhere...if the dead were everywhere...they had only one choice.

He looked Varys straight in the eyes, grabbed him by the shoulders. The Spider recoiled at his touch, turned away form his foul breath, but it didn't matter. None of it mattered. They had to kill the dead.

"Burn them all," he said simply, as if he thought Varys should already know.

Varys back away, tears in his eyes. Bowed.

"Yes, your Grace," he said.

And suddenly, he felt paralyzed. He looked down. A sword sprouted from the folds of his robes, the wrong end of it, stopping his heart dead. He looked up.

There was Jon, Jon, Aegon, his heir, Jon, his brother, cousin, grandson...he didn't know. His heir. He was staring at him with wide, fearful eyes. He had to tell him, had to tell Jon before he moved past this moment, perhaps Jon could get him out of this horrible nightmare...had to warn him...warn him they were coming...

"Burn them all," he said, and he felt like screaming beause his tongue would say nothing else...and he felt his throat open, and saw the blood spatter across his grandson's face, and everything went black.

 _It was a long time before he felt anything again, and when he did they were needling pinpricks of ice. He sat backwards on the back of the dead dragon, and in front of him, staring at him with cruel indifference, was the Night King. The wall was fallen, and he heard dragons in the distance, sounds of fighting that lasted weeks..._

 _"Why are you doing this?" he asked, but he heard hissing. He couldn't tell if it was his own voice or the Other... "Let me go... Let me go past...I need to get past...please..."_

 _"Why?" asked Bran._

 _The Night King turned his terrible blue eyes on him._

 _"Because_ _ **you**_ _need to get past..."_

 _"What?" he cried, and he was falling again, but there was an Other with him, cling at him, gnawing at him._

 _"BRANDON," it cried. "PLEASE LET ME GO PAST!"_

 _They struggled, struggled for control...Was he Bran or was he the Other? He didn't know..._

 _"Let me go!" he screamed, he wanted to wake up from this nightmare, but he needed to get past the wall..._

 _"Please," the voice hissed, screamed._

 _"But you'll kill everyone..."_

 _"Death is only the next part of life..."_

 _"No..."_

 _"You want to be with me...you want to die...only in death is there power, only in death will you truly be free..."_

 _"No..."_

 _"Let it go, Bran, let it go, and you will walk again...you will see your mother and father again..."_

 _"No...!" he cried. "They're dead!"_

 _"You will rise with your ancestors,_ _ **our**_ _ancestors...with all the buried dead, they were foolish to bury their dead...together we will go..."_

 _"Go where?"_

 _A pair of blue eyes met his._

 _"To death...I have to die, only the children can kill me...I must go to the island, I must die, I'm so tired of this pain...I want to go home..."_

 _Bran screamed, clawed at him, they struggled, but he broke free, and he was flying again, and he was a Raven. There was calm, the wind at his face, the air beneath his wings carried him home, home to Winterfell._

 _Perhaps he was dead, perhaps the Night King had won, and now he was flying, flying, flying free, and he would go home..._

 _"Bran! Wake up! Please wake up! Don't die! Bran you can't die! Please wake up!"_

 _He was flying..._

 **A/N:** o.o

 _So, there's that..._


	17. Chapter 17

**Final Author's Note PSA:**

Dear Readers, I am truly sorry for those of you that enjoyed this fic. I cannot express how much I appreciate your kind words of encouragement and love. You kept me motivated up to the end and were the only reason I kept writing as long as I did.

The ones of you that were so invested you were willing to give such wonderful advice through PM about your personal experiences in life, your cultures, your knowledge of weapons, that would help me write a better story, thank you. You were amazing and helpful and sharing your (sometimes painful) experiences was such an amazing thing to me. I truly, truly thank you and if I ever write again I hope to have such wonderful people on my side. (You all know who you are, and I love you, thank you so much)

And finally, to the haters.

Congratulations. I hope you're happy. You have won. You have left such hateful, negative, spiteful reviews that I lost all motivation for this story, and any ideas I had were lost in the absolute virulent hate that I have received over a character choice that you perceived as out of character. I truly, truly despise every single one of you, with your blasé attitude and hatred. I sincerely hope you don't treat other budding authors this way. I can't help but wonder how many people, like me, that you have turned off of writing because you can't adhere to the rule of "if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say it." As well as "treat other people how you would want to be treated." I would like to say I hope no one ever treats you the way you have treated me, but I have no empathy for people like you in my heart, and I hope you have such hatred spilled on a story you have spilled your heart out for, worked tirelessly for, all for the person who hates you so much, that you, too, never want to write again.

I seriously will never understand why you couldn't just…quit reading, instead of making everyone else suffer, and hurting someone.

Please remember we give you all this content for free, that we wanted to do it because we love the story, and because we care about our readers. We owe you nothing but continue to give out of a pure need to create, something which you have stolen from me for this story.

So, in conclusion, and as a PSA,

 **This story will be deleted in a week's time.**

The reason for this, instead of me just abandoning it like so many other stories, is because I am sick and tired of receiving the amount of hateful reviews that crop up every few weeks or so. It makes me feel horrible about myself, and just reminds me what a horrible author I am. So thanks.

I give you a week, for those of you that love it, that say it has inspired you, to save it to your desktop so you may peruse it at your leisure, and so you can never forget what being hurtful can do to a person.

I also give a week for the haters to continue to spew their vitriol and gloat if they so wish. Have fucking fun xoxoxo hope you get some of that anger out on me instead of some other, younger poor soul. Hope you stop being such miserable people.

I'm so sorry to those of you that enjoyed it.

Sincerely,

grednforgesgirl 3

PS: Yes, anon guest, you were the last straw. Hope you're fucking happy. Fuck you.


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